In the Spring
by hedixo01
Summary: Spring is one of the four temperate seasons, the transition period between winter and summer. Spring refers to the season, and the ideas of rebirth, renewal and regrowth. Katniss and Peeta experience all three together. Rated M for later lemons.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I hope you enjoy! Thanks to You May Call Me Goddess - Bitch Goddess for being my beta. **

**Disclaimer: I make no claims to own anything related to The Hunger Games; I just hate to see a story end.**

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><p>I don't even need to open my eyes to know that it's way too early to be awake. Normally, I'd be able to see the sunlight through my eyelids, but that's only if it's up. I wait for a long moment before I finally open my eyes. This is the first time a nightmare hasn't caused me to scream. I guess I'm not sure if it would even be called a nightmare.<p>

I was back in the arena from the first Games, looking for Peeta. But instead of finding him in the mud, he's nowhere. I walk around for what seems like hours just searching, but I never find him. I don't get frantic; I just keep walking and searching with my bow pulled taut and an arrow ready to fly. At some point, the string cuts into my fingers, but I don't even notice. It's only when I run straight into the force field at the edge that I'm suddenly pulled back to reality and realize I'm just lying in bed.

I leave my eyes closed, not quite ready to open them and start my day, but I don't think I want to go back to sleep either. The days have started to get easier. Especially with the routines Dr. Aurelius helped me implement. But the nights continue to plague me. Sometimes, I'm afraid the evening hours will forever be filled with my own terrifying memories, as well as the scenarios my mind conjures up.

Eventually, I force my eyelids open, not really feeling sleepy enough to put off the inevitable any longer. Without bothering to look at the clock or turn on any lights, I make my way slowly to the bathroom for my morning routine. I always start with a shower. Shampoo first; rinse. Next comes the soap for cleaning my whole body and shave my armpits at the same time; rinse. I wash my face at that point; rinse. I don't bother shaving my legs; what's the point? I grab the towel hanging on the wall and dry off. After my pat down, I squeeze as much water out of my hair as I can and wrap the towel around my body. I shuffle over to the sink to brush my teeth and hair. Once I untangle the knots, I pull it all back into my typical braid. I then hang the towel up to dry and go back to my room and the pile of clothes I laid out the night before as part of my evening routine. I quickly rub myself down with a special lotion that's been helping my skin heal from my burns. Then, after dressing, down to the shoes even, I head downstairs for breakfast.

It's been two months since Greasy Sae has been by to fix me food and make sure I eat. My routines keep me eating, and if I stray too far from them, Peeta or Haymitch notice pretty quickly.

Once I'm in the kitchen, I put a slice of bread in the toaster, grab an egg from the fridge, and fill my kettle with water. I crack the egg into a pan on the stove and put the kettle on the burner next to it. While the bread is toasting, the egg sizzling and the water heating, I grab a plate, mug, and utensils. After another two short minutes, I'm sitting down at the kitchen table with my buttered toast, over easy egg, and hot water with honey. Breakfast usually looks like this most mornings. Sometimes I do milk instead, or I might scramble my egg. Sometimes Peeta brings over a cheese bun.

After I finish eating, I wash all the dishes I used. I grab my bow, game bag, and my dad's old hunting jacket from the peg on the wall by the door. I step outside and make my way to the woods. I still haven't even looked at the clock.

The fences are still in place (for our safety) but are no longer electrified, and they now contain small gates the size of a door for easy exit and entry. I make my way to my favorite spot easily; the moon is full and bright still. I start setting traps in the usual places around me, and then sit and wait for the sun to rise.

I actually manage to take down a rabbit and a squirrel just as the sky starts to turn lavender. I openly grin as I see my arrow stuck straight through the rabbit's eye. It's the first time I've been able to do that since I started hunting here again. It seems like it's only been a few hours by the time my bag is nearly full, so I throw it over my shoulder, and head back towards town.

I stop by the Hob, which is no longer a black market, and trade some game for a few things. It must still be a little early because there aren't quite as many people out yet.

Walking back home I'm amazed at the progress District 12 has made. An outsider probably wouldn't even be able to tell that we had ever been bombed. There aren't nearly as many people or buildings as there used to be, but the ones that are here have worked around the clock to get life back to some semblance of normalcy; as if life in Panem could ever have been considered normal. We've all adopted routines. Some of us go through them with more enthusiasm, but whatever our feelings are, things still get done. I like to think that the population of 12 has always been resilient and will continue to be for generations.

The row of houses once known as the Victor's Village is a completely different place. All of the houses are now inhabited with families. Some houses have one big family in them and some are filled with groupings of people that no longer have a family. Peeta actually opened his home to Gale's family, their home having been destroyed by the bombing. I was surprised at first thinking it might make Peeta uncomfortable, but he and Gale had at least retained a mutual respect for each other. And Peeta understood Hazelle's need to return home to start over instead of rebuilding in a new District like Gale did. I thought of having them live with me at one point, but I didn't think I'd be able to handle that. I wonder if Peeta thought they would take the place of his own family. Some days I think he has trouble dealing with the noise of the kids and the full house, but that's usually when he escapes to my house. At other times, I think the innocence of children is helping to restore Peeta to his old self. I only wish the same could be said about me.

I do have my days where one of my routines suddenly means more than it once did. This morning's bull's-eye, for example, filled me with a sense of pride in my skills that I hadn't felt since before the first Games. I won't talk with Dr. Aurelius until the end of the week, but I think he'll be pleased with my progress.

When I walk in the door, I can already tell someone's here. I take my time hanging my stuff back up, knowing that there's only a small handful of people that would come see me this early in the morning.

I start heading towards the kitchen, but Peeta meets me halfway.

"I came to bring you some breakfast, but I'm assuming you've already eaten," he begins, and then turns around to go back to the kitchen.

"I have, sorry," I say. I follow Peeta to the kitchen, and the smell of baked goods greets me when I enter. He turns to me and leans against the counter.

"You're up early, especially if you've already been out hunting. What time did you get up?"

I can see him scrutinizing me, trying to make sure I'm getting enough sleep. He and I both know how disturbed our sleep patterns are, and that we may never get enough rest.

"I didn't actually look at the clock this morning, but it was probably a few hours ago." His expression doesn't change, but I can tell he's displeased. "I just couldn't get back to sleep, so I decided to start my day early." I don't know why I bother defending my actions; it's not any of his business. But then again, I guess it sort of is. We're both still trying to protect the other.

Slowly over the past year, Peeta and I have fallen into an awkward relationship. Dr. Aurelius told him about my idea for a memory book and he offered to help. At first, we worked on it separately. He would draw and I would write. Originally, we never shared what we had done, but when we finally merged our entries, we were shocked to see how many of them coincided with each other. That was when we decided to join our efforts and work side by side.

After a few minutes, Peeta nods his head, says 'Okay', and pushes off the counter. He starts to leave, but then turns back. "Will you want to nap, or should I still come by later?" he asks.

We have a loosely scheduled time that Peeta comes over to work on the book, and then he usually helps me with dinner, which we eat together. Haymitch will join us sometimes too.

"I'm not tired, actually, so sure, come on over."

He nods again and then disappears. A second later, I hear the front door close, and I assume he's gone to take his other baked goods to various homes and businesses.

I go to the sink in order to wash up from the hunt, and so I can eat one of Peeta's cheese buns also. After I savor every last morsel (those are something I can be enthusiastic about), I start working on the game that I kept for myself. For so long, I had been afraid that prepping and cooking my own food would remind me too much of the years I had spent doing it to keep my mother, Prim, and myself alive.

Even thinking of my sweet little sister for a split second is agonizing. She used to try to help me in the kitchen. I tried to teach her everything my father and mother had taught me about cooking with herbs and spices instead of curing ailments. Mostly she just watched me and we would talk about anything and everything. Sometimes she would use the time to work alongside me and make her goat cheese. I haven't been able to touch anything goat related since 'that' day.

I finish skinning and separating the cuts of meat. Then I wrap each piece and put it all in my freezer. I have some older stuff I'll be using for this evening's meal. I was pleasantly surprised at how easy it was start cooking for myself again, actually. When I first started trying out new routines I was shocked at how much time there was in the day. Then I was slightly appalled at how much time I spent sleeping or just staring into space. I quickly realized I needed to find more things to keep me busy for longer periods. Besides hunting though, there isn't much I'm especially good at. I don't paint or bake, and I'm not particularly fond of liquor. Plus, I didn't think drinking would aid in my recovery. It may work for Haymitch, but I felt like I owed more to Prim than that. That's when I thought of the idea for the memory book. It was something to keep my mind and hands busy, and it started out as a tribute to Prim's life.

That's really what keeps me moving forward and going through the motions. Knowing that Prim would disapprove of my habitual wallowing pushed me into action. It all started with those simple primrose bushes. Peeta helped me tend to them that first spring he planted them. When I saw him planting them it was like a spark was immediately ignited. It made me think of the spark Snow had claimed I created with my Nightlock. Unfortunately, my small burst of energy didn't take me as far as the rebellion.

It wasn't a month later that Peeta had gathered some of the blooms into a bouquet for me, along with some other wildflowers. At first, I was furious with him for destroying them, and because it was one of my worse days, I may have even slapped him. Amazingly, he stayed in control of himself, placed the bouquet on the table by the couch, and left the house. I collapsed on the couch and cried myself to sleep. When I woke up in the morning, my eyes immediately went the flowers that had gone without water all night and had wilted. At that moment, I wasn't sure whom I was angrier with: Peeta or myself. I reached out gingerly for the small bundle and brought them slowly to my nose. Even though they were droopy, I was still overwhelmed by the scent. Overwhelmed and rejuvenated. I pressed one of the primroses from that bouquet in between two pages, and that was my first entry into the book. On one of the pages it was pressed between I wrote down the reason my parents gave Prim her name.

It was one of my earliest memories. My father was holding Prim in a rocking chair as she fell asleep. She was barely a week old, and we were all in love with her. We were sitting in the front room, and my father was singing softly to Prim. It was a warm evening in late spring and we had all the windows thrown open, letting the breeze bring in the scent of the season. My mother was still in bed recuperating. The song got quieter as she fell into a deeper sleep. Without looking away from her face, he started speaking to me.

"You know, our little Prim was not always so peaceful at night. That's how she got her name." He continued rocking her in silence for a few moments before looking to me. "You see, Katniss, the evening primrose gets it name because it opens within less than a minute in the evening. And your sister here was just the same way when she was in Mommy's stomach. She would start kicking, stretching, and moving around as soon as the evening had come. Mommy was none too pleased, but all I could think of was the precocious little primrose that goes against the grain every night and opens just as the sun sets."

Thinking of my father and Prim has brought tears to my eyes. I brush them away furiously with the back of my hand, but it's no use; they just keep coming. This is exactly what staying busy is supposed to prevent. And this is just what the book was supposed to make easier. Even if I don't cry by the time we're done working on the book for the day, I always feel emotionally drained. Thinking of the past and writing down all of my happy memories leaves me feeling empty when I compare them to what my life is now.

I go to the sink and try to calm myself by splashing some water on my face. It doesn't help much, but it keeps my head clear long enough to clean the bloody mess I've made with the animals.

Once I'm done in the kitchen, I quickly turn my attention to my housework. Since I do this nearly everyday it never takes very long. I begin in my room dusting, picking up laundry, and picking up any trash. My bathroom is next which takes more time. Even if it doesn't need much cleaning the entire bathroom still gets a scrub. I do the bathtub, sink, toilet, and floors, all of it. I go straight to the living room, kitchen, and dining room next. I haven't been able to go into my mother or Prim's room for the entire year that I've been back. I don't go to the study, either, fearing I might be able to smell Snow still. Gale's mother, Hazelle, started checking on those rooms once a month. Just opening windows, and attacking the dust bunnies that accumulate over time. She, thankfully, makes the rounds to Haymitch as well.

While I wait for the laundry to be finished, I eat a sandwich for lunch and wash it down with a glass of milk. By the time I finish putting away the small amount of laundry there are still too many hours left before Peeta will be over. I end up outside in my backyard, checking on the seedlings I started last week at Peeta's insistence.

It was actually Prim's idea to start a garden here since we didn't really have much room for one in the Seam. But with everything that was going on at the time, silly things like gardens got pushed to the back burner. Plus, as a victor, it wasn't like I was in need of the food a garden would produce. There isn't much action yet, but I water them anyway. I find myself actually looking forward to the time when they will grow larger and require more care. It'll give me something else to do to stay busy. With that thought in mind, I start mapping out a large space where the garden should be. It will probably still be another month or so before I can put the plants in the ground, but I could at least start getting it ready for them.

I didn't pay attention to how long I had been working, and Peeta walks around the house to find me with a shovel in hand. From the corner of my eye, I see him smile slightly and shake his head.

"Katniss, what are you doing?" I can hear amusement in his voice.

"I'm starting my garden, like you suggested," I tell him in between using my shovel to make a large rectangle in the ground. I've made a small ditch around the perimeter, and I plan to start digging up the grass inside it over the next few days.

"I did suggest that, but I didn't expect you to 'dig in' with such gusto."

I roll my eyes at his stupid pun. "I finished everything else, and I needed something to do."

He watches me finish the rectangle, and then takes the shovel from me. "Come on, let's get inside. It looks like it's about rain."

I look up at the overcast sky, wondering when it became so cloudy. "Great, I just watered the plants."

Without missing a step, Peeta walks over to one side of the rickety table where the plants are placed. "We'll just move them under the eave so they don't get too much."

I lift the other side and we put the table against the house next to the stairs leading from the back door. It's not five minutes after we get back inside that the rain starts.

I go straight for the book, and sit in an armchair in the living room with it. I open it and just start perusing random pages. My fingers linger over the primrose, and many of Peeta's sketches. After almost a year of making entries, we've recorded many of the more important things. Now we document any small detail we can think of. I wish we had started with the small things first because those seem to be the hardest to recall now. Like the exact color pink of the ribbon I had put on Lady when I gave her to Prim. And what the sunset looked like when Peeta and I spent the day on the roof right before the Quell.

Peeta walks over to stand behind me and brushes his fingers across the picture he drew detailing Finnick and Annie's wedding cake.

"That was a great cake," I comment.

Peeta walks around to sit on the couch next to my chair. "Yeah, it was, and a great day too." He sighs and stares off, remembering the past, but I look at him uncertainly.

"Wait. Were you there?" He nods his head slowly. "I never saw you," I whisper.

"I stood in the back. Haymitch convinced them to at least let me see the ceremony, and then he snuck a piece of the cake back to me." That drunkard never ceases to amaze me.

"I had no idea. I'm glad you got to see them so happy."

He smiles faintly. "Me too."

I close the book and place it on the coffee table. I walk into the kitchen, needing a drink and needing to shake myself from my stupor. I bring my glass back filled with water, with another one for Peeta. He takes a gulp and clears his throat.

"So what should we work on today?" he asks me as if I've been thinking about it all day. But I haven't thought of much so I just shrug my shoulders. But then, just like a bolt of lightning, inspiration strikes.

"Actually, I managed to get a rabbit through the eye today. I think I'll write about that, even if it is a little gruesome." I grab a new sheet of paper and a pencil.

"That's awesome, Katniss." Peeta is grinning a little largely for my taste, but I know he's just excited about my improvement. "Do you want me to sketch a picture for you?" His grin becomes a little wicked.

"Uh, no thanks. That might be going too far." Peeta's attitude is so infectious it's hard not to join in with a small smile.

"Well, I think I'll just work on some of the unfinished sketches then." He walks over to the desk where we keep the book's things and grabs the colored pencils Dr. Aurelius sent with the fancy paper. We're both silent for a while as we work diligently.

I begin like I always do with writing the date. Then I describe the way the woods looked early in the morning with the dew still hanging heavy on the foliage and a small amount of fog lingering around the tree trunks and my ankles. I had been crouched low, with my back against a tree for nearly twenty minutes, just waiting and listening. I heard a soft rustle in the leaves to my right and pulled my bow all the way back. It didn't take me long to spot the unsuspecting creature making his merry little way among the leaves and fallen branches. Slowly and silently, I raised my arms, my muscles engaged with the effort of keeping the arrow pulled back, but still relaxed because that's the key to the perfect shot. I timed it just right and on my exhale, I let the arrow fly. It was the best I've felt while hunting since being back.

I pause and look up to see Peeta staring at my face.

"Wow,' he breathes. I look around confused for a moment.

"What? Is something wrong?"

He shakes his head to break the spell he's apparently under. "No, nothing. It's just…you're face just now was so animated." He gets that mesmerized look on his face again. "It was fascinating, that's all."

I narrow my eyes at him skeptically, but then he shakes his head again and goes back to whatever sketch he had been completing.

We both finish up after a few more minutes and then make our way to the kitchen to start cooking. I stare at the cabinet filled with canned goods from the Capitol, trying to decide what to make. Peeta opens the refrigerator and grabs the meat I threw in there this morning.

"This is what we're using right?" he asks, bringing it over to me and the cutting board lying on the counter next to me. I nod and he joins me to stare at the cans. "What are we making?"

"I have no idea," I say and sigh.

I probably should start planning meals, but it's hard to think too far in advance. After another minute, I end up grabbing a can of mixed vegetables and hand them to Peeta. I grab a pot while he opens them and then dumps them in. I set the stove on low to heat them slowly while I start on the meat. I combine flour with some seasonings and cover the cubes of meat in the mixture. Peeta already has a skillet waiting with oil heating up. I place the meat in the pan, turning each piece frequently to get it brown on all sides. While those finish browning, I mix a little broth from the fridge that Greasy Sae made with a little more flour and pour that over the meat. I cover the pan, turn the heat down slightly, stir the vegetables, and then wait. I go to help Peeta who is already at the sink cleaning the few dishes we used for prep.

"Do you have any extra bread? It might be nice with the meat and gravy."

"Yeah, sure," he says as he rinses and dries his hands. He looks out the window to make sure it's stopped raining. "I'll be right back."

While he's gone, I grab our glasses from the living room and refill them. I grab plates and utensils and set it all on the small table in the kitchen. When it's just Peeta and me, we sit in the kitchen instead of the formal dining room. I go back to the stove, stir the vegetables, and check the meat. Peeta comes back in the front door while I'm seasoning the vegetables. I can hear him stomping and wiping his feet to get the water off. He brings the loaf back to the kitchen, grabs a knife, and starts cutting slices for us. The days of me being frightened around Peeta with a knife have long since passed.

I grab the butter dish and a slice of bread and start spreading. I can smell the thyme Peeta has used to flavor the bread and it's too hard to wait. I take a huge bite before Peeta can object.

"You're lucky I grabbed a large loaf," he says sternly, but his eyes are smiling so I know I'm not really in trouble especially when he grabs a slice too.

We put the rest of the bread and butter on the table. Peeta sits down in one of the chairs, and I make myself comfortable on the counter while we wait for the meat to finish cooking. Silence fills the kitchen, but it's not entirely uncomfortable. Instead of letting my mind wander, I try to focus on the task at hand, and even think of the next few days and what I might cook.

"It'll be nice if the garden is a success. Then we'll have some fresh vegetables instead of having to use so much Capitol food," he says, breaking my train of thought. Apparently, his mind was on the food track as well.

"Yeah, I hope I don't kill anything. I was even thinking I might can some if we have an abundance."

"Have you ever canned anything before?" he asks while giving me a smirk.

"No, but it can't be that difficult. I'm sure Sae will help me figure it out. She has to have done it at some point."

"We can learn together," he says, leaning back in his chair. "If you don't mind, that is." He's still careful not to impose too much; he knows I mainly prefer solitude.

"No, that's fine. I'm sure I could use the help." It's a comfort to know that Peeta is there for me, even though I'm not the most welcoming person.

I check the meat after another minute, and decide that's it's done. We both grab our plates and dish ourselves some vegetables and meat with gravy. We settle at the table and begin our meal in silence again. I've gotten so used to silence it's almost unnerving when I venture into town or to Peeta's house with all the kids there. It's no one's fault really; I just spend too much time in the woods or alone in my house. Another few minutes pass while we eat, and then Peeta drops his fork on his plate and looks at me.

"I'm sorry, Katniss," he begins with a guilty look. But he continues before I can even ask why. "I don't think I ever really thanked you. For feeding me, and letting me spend some time here everyday," he elaborates.

"You feed me. You bring me bread and stuff all the time," I add, slightly embarrassed by his gratitude. He brushes me off with a wave.

"Regardless, I still appreciate it. I guess it was just so easy to fall into this habit of working on the book and then staying for dinner that it never entered my mind to thank you. So, thank you, Katniss. It really helps me unwind."

Still feeling a little flushed, I nod my head and mumble, 'your welcome' before continuing to eat. I think about what Peeta said though, and I'm struck at how true his words are. It's taken little to no effort on my part to create and maintain this companionship. I might even call it a friendship if I were a little more friendly, but sometimes I feel like I'm a little cold towards Peeta without really meaning to be. I'm reminded of our time on the victory tour and just before the Quell. What we had then is very similar to what we have now; a camaraderie based on our need for each other in order to survive. I look up at his arms, neck and face still riddled with scars, and think about how there is no one in the world quite like us. And how there is no one else that could do for us what we do for each other. It's then that I reach over and place my hand on his. I don't squeeze it or weave my fingers through his; I just rest it there. He looks at my hand, astonishment on his face. This is probably the most intimate contact we've had since I kissed him in the Capitol, and we were still fighting for our lives. Only we're still fighting; it's just a different battle this time.

"In that case, thank you, Peeta." He's still looking at our hands, but my eyes are trained on his face, almost pleading with him to look at me so he can see the sincerity in my own. "Thank you, for coming back here, and for staying with me." His eyes finally make contact with mine.

"Always," he murmurs.

Peeta heads back to his house after helping me wash the dishes from dinner and clean up the kitchen. I wander around for a few more minutes putting things back in place, or straightening things that aren't crooked. Finally, I make myself stop and head upstairs for my evening routine.

I change into pajamas, and lay out an outfit for the morning. I brush my teeth, and wash my face. I leave my hair in the braid because otherwise it gets tangled while I thrash about in bed. Suddenly, the fact that I woke up so early catches up with me, and I'm exhausted. I burrow under the covers, and foolishly think that because I'm so tired I'll fall right to sleep when my head hits the pillow. Of course, that's not the case though.

Not two minutes after my eyes close, I'm back in the Capitol on the day I attempted to assassinate Snow. But instead of the moment I kissed Peeta and pulled him back to reality, I'm staring at Prim in all her beautiful innocence trying to help those poor children who were not much younger than her. I open my eyes to try and snap back to reality. It doesn't work, though, and the scene plays in my head over and over. I press the heels of my hands into my eyes and hum loudly trying to block out the memories. I rock from side to side, and end up humming the Hanging Tree tune. Tears start sliding down my face as visions of my father and Prim swirl together in my mind. Somehow, in the midst of rocking, weeping, and humming I sink into a fitful sleep.

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><p><strong>AN: It's been a long time since I've written anything, but I hope this wasn't too terrible. I know you've all read a thousand post Mockingjay stories, but I hope this is deifferent enough. I love reviews like Finnick loves Annie, so click that little link. ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Sorry about the wait. It's shorter this time, but I hope you still like it.**

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><p>It's my weekly phone call with Dr. Aurelius; he always has me go through the details of my week with him. Everything is the same as last week, but I finish with the news of my bull's eye. Feeling rather pleased with myself, I'm surprised when I don't get immediate approval.<p>

"So, that's good right? I'm improving." Still there's silence, and I can almost hear him measuring his words out carefully.

"Yes, its improvement, Katniss, but I'm starting to feel like it's not enough."

Now it's my turn to be silent. I've been doing so much recently; how could it not be enough?

"What do you mean not enough?" I'm starting to get angry now, and I can feel the adrenaline starting to pump through my veins. "I hunt nearly everyday now, I cook every meal for myself, I'm cleaning almost my whole house on my own, and I work on the book everyday too. I'm even working on a garden! What more do you expect of me?" My breathing has increased its tempo. I want so badly to hang up the phone and go bury myself in my bed.

"I'm sorry, Katniss, you're right. You've made some huge advances toward recovery this last year. But I feel like you've hit a stalemate. There hasn't been much change for the last six months, and I'm worried your routines are becoming too much of a habit. They're allowing you to just go through motions without any thought."

"But that's why I'm able to do the routines at all, they don't take much thought," I manage to spit at him through clenched teeth. "You're the one who wanted me to follow a schedule in the first place. You told me I should find things to fill my time; hobbies you called them." I know my tone is mocking, and I couldn't care less. I hear him sigh. It's not an exasperated one, more like he pities me.

"Please don't get upset, Katniss. I'm not trying to criticize you. I'm merely suggesting that we try to change things around in the hopes that you might be able to experience more of the feelings you had when you shot the animal. I fear that all of these activities you've taken on are enabling you to hide from the real issues."

All I want at this point is to get off the phone so I can go wallow before Peeta comes over to work on the book and notices something.

"I guess I can see your point, but I don't think I'm ready for that yet." My head is starting to spin a little and it's a good thing I'm sitting on the couch.

"Okay, Katniss. Just think about what I've said, and we'll revisit the idea next week. Now go outside for some fresh air."

I mumble a quick assent and goodbye before hanging up and stumbling up the stairs.

Once I'm in my room, I close and lock the door behind me. Something I haven't done for months. I crawl under the covers and let the darkness consume me. I don't want to try any harder than I already have.

After I came back to District 12, it took me nearly a month just to move from the chair that I had first planted myself in. It took me another month to start showering regularly. By that time, I had started on the book, but I still didn't eat unless forced to and I never slept for more than two hours at a time. I didn't start hunting again for another month after that, and it was still two weeks before I managed to catch something. Some days I would get to the woods and just sit there for hours. Other times I'd wander around, occasionally gathering some plants. Any time I tried to knock an arrow and draw my bow my hands would shake, and I'd fall to the ground holding my head as the faces of everyone I had killed with my bow swam before my eyes. It was an additional month before my catches became consistent. Four months later, I started cooking my own meals, and cleaning up after myself, and that's as far as I've gotten.

I know what Dr. Aurelius means about how I don't do much thinking throughout the day; I just go about my routines as practiced. If I let myself dwell on anything too long then I'm pulled under again and it takes me a day or so to recover. I've gotten used to my routines recently, and the bad days have become fewer and fewer. I'm not looking for change.

I've apparently allowed myself to lose track of time because before I know it I hear a knock on the door. When I don't answer, the person on the other side tries the doorknob. I'm glad I had the foresight to lock it.

"Katniss, please open the door." Of course, it would be Peeta. He's usually the only one that bothers to come all the way up to my room. I stick my head out from under the blanket long enough mumble 'go away' before covering up again.

"No! I'm not going away. Open the door!" I choose to ignore him at this point. It doesn't usually take long for him to give up and try again later. "Katniss! Open up, now!" he shouts which only succeeds at making me angry.

"Leave me alone, Peeta! I'll be fine in the morning; just go away!" Hopefully by the morning I'll have a nice cloud over my brain once again that will allow me to get through the day in relative peace.

"I'm not going away this time, Katniss! Either open the door, or I'll find another way in." I press the heels of my hands to my eyes trying to will away the headache that's beginning right behind them.

"Please just go away," I say weakly now. "I don't want you here right now."

"Too bad!" he shouts, and before I can process what he's doing I hear wood splintering, and the doorknob is flying across the room. The door is flung back against the wall and Peeta storms in. I bolt up in bed to my knees, shocked.

"Peeta! What is your problem?" Without any explanation though, Peeta grabs my hand and practically drags me off the bed. I try to wrench my hand free, but he's locked on tight. "Peeta! Let go!" A small portion of my brain wonders if I'll have bruises from this tomorrow. I continue to try to wriggle my hand free as he pulls me along behind him. We're down the stairs and out the front door in a flash.

Once we get outside, I stop trying to break free from his vice grip because it hurts too much to struggle. We're heading away from the Victor's Village, towards the woods it seems. I'm glad I stopped struggling as people start to look our way; we don't really go out in public together, so seeing us holding hands is a shock I'm sure.

Peeta stops just as we reach the gate. He opens it and releases me, only to push me through. He follows, closes the gate, grabs my hand, and resumes dragging me through the woods. It's much easier to keep up now because his prosthetic leg slows him down.

Fleetingly, I wonder if Peeta is having a flashback. I speculate that maybe he's taking me to the woods to finish me off, but I push that thought aside in the hopes that it isn't true.

Finally, after a few minutes, Peeta stops abruptly, and turns to face me. His arms are crossed, and his chest rises and falls heavily as he stares daggers at me.

"Why…are we…in the woods?" I ask in between panting.

"I thought it would be the safest place to have it out," he states matter-of-factly.

"Safe for you maybe," I mumble under my breath. Too late, I see the shock and hurt on Peeta's face, and I realize I may have said that too loudly.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Katniss."

I eye him again, and even though he looks upset, he certainly doesn't look homicidal.

"Then why did you drag me all the way out here?" I'm completely confused, but it's at least gotten my mind off my session with Dr. Aurelius.

Peeta relaxes his stance, and goes to lean against a tree. "I'm worried about you."

I'm not entirely surprised; Peeta's usually worried about me. "So, what's new?" I ask sardonically.

"Dr. Aurelius called me," he elaborates. "And he asked me to check on you." Of course. Sometimes I wish Peeta and I had a different doctor. "But I didn't need him asking me to look in on you to know that something is off."

"Nothing's changed, Peeta. I'm exactly the same as I have been for the last year; I'm fine." I walk a few steps to a fallen tree and sit down.

"I think that's just the problem. You aren't moving forward. You're not changing." Part of me can sense that his words ring true, but a larger part is just getting irritated.

"So you don't think I'm trying hard enough, either?" I stand up again and start pacing. "What more can I do to please you people? I'm hunting, shooting really well, and cooking for myself. I'm talking to Dr. Aurelius every week now. I'm even starting a garden! What else would you like me to do?" I throw my hands in the air to make a point. Peeta pushes off the tree, and takes a few steps closer to me.

"Live, Katniss. I mean really live. The most emotion I've seen on your face for the past year was when you were writing about shooting the rabbit. That is any emotion other than misery."

"Would you rather have me plaster a big cheesy grin across my face like Effie Trinket? Or laugh hysterically at your jokes? I'm not going to pretend that I'm not miserable, Peeta." I move back to the tree, and sit down, dejected. I just want to be back in my bed.

"It's not that I think you aren't trying," he says, and then joins me on the log. "But I don't think you're trying to move on. It's like you're stuck in survival mode."

"But that's what I've been doing for seven years now. Surviving is all I know, Peeta." I wrap my arms around myself, finally feeling the early spring chill. I end up with my head resting on my knees.

"I know, Katniss." I can feel Peeta shift next to me, and suddenly his fingertips brush across my back. He reaches around and squeezes my arm, and tries to pull me upright. "But what about how your life was just before the Games? Were you just surviving then?"

Peeta's proximity and his arm around me are actually a comfort I didn't realize I missed. My physical human contact has been almost none in the last year. Gale's family gave me hugs when they first came back, and that's all I can remember. He's surprisingly warm too, which makes it easier to sit outside while the temperature drops.

"I had Prim back then, Peeta. Even my mother was a comfort then." I try to breathe deeply in an effort to hold back the tears. "It wasn't just my survival that was important. I was trying to keep Prim alive and happy too. I wanted Prim to be happy. Because when she was happy so was I."

Only a moment of silence passes before Peeta rises off the log. He touches my head to get my attention, and I see his hand outstretched to help me up. I take it and rise to my feet.

"Let's head back," he suggests, and squeezes my hand before tugging me along.

We reach the edge of the woods before he drops my hand and speaks again.

"I know you miss her. I know you miss all of them. I miss them too, but shutting our eyes to all of the good things that are still in our life makes their deaths seem so insignificant. It's not enough just to write about memories in a book. We have to continue making memories too."

We walk the rest of the way back to my house in silence. Normally, we would be eating dinner at this time, but I can't seem to make myself have an appetite right now. After my father died, the best thing in my life was Prim. The whole country could fall apart and it wouldn't matter to me as long as she was safe. But I couldn't do it; I couldn't keep her safe. Not only is she gone now, but it's my failure that cost her her life.

Peeta walks me to the door, but stops before following me in. I turn back to him, and the sadness in his eyes frightens me.

"Goodnight, Katniss," he murmurs reaching a hand to brush along my cheek. "Just think about what I said. Think about what Prim would do if the positions were reversed."

I move through the house and up the stairs with Peeta's words still ringing in my ears. I skip my evening routine, and head straight to bed. What he said reminds me of when Haymitch told me to look at the hijacking situation as if it had gone the other way and I was the brainwashed one. Peeta would have tried harder to bring me back to myself. Just like Prim would try harder to move forward and past the sadness. I fall asleep easily, replaying memories of our family, before my dad died. I know it'll make waking up that much harder, but right now, I want them with me.

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><p><strong>So...tell me what ya think! Really. Be truthful. I can handle it. And thanks to everyone who reviewed the first chapter, and added me to their favoritesalerts. It's hard to describe how awesome it makes me feel to know that people are reading and enjoying what I've written. Just know that it makes my heart super happy! **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I had wanted to wait to post this chapter since I'm not quite done with chapter four, but I couldn't do that to you. That might mean that it'll be a little longer before I get to update, especially with the holiday coming up (I'm so behind!), but I'll work as fast as I can. I hope you enjoy, and have a Merry Christmas to all those who celebrate!**

**Oh! I'm such an idiot! I totally forgot to thank my super amazing Beta, You May Call Me Goddess-Bitch Goddess. She's brilliant with commas. I, however, am not. **

**And did I need to tell you that I don't own The Hunger Games? I didn't think so. **

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><p><em>The woods are the most beautiful in the late morning. The sun is bright and it's still early enough for the birds to be singing and the rest of the creatures to be scampering about. My father's brought me out here to teach me about the plants and trees that inhabit the woods. I've climbed high up in a tree whilehesearches for a specific bush. I can hear him whistling a tune, and when themockingjaysstart in, he changes to singing the words. It's like a picture from a fairytale.<em>

_But then he starts to walk too far away from me. I try to call out to him to wait for me, but the only sound that comes out is a bird's whistle. I begin clambering down the tree, but the ground extends further and further below me. Finally, I slip on a branch and plummet to theforest floor. I land flat on my back and the breathisforced from my lungs. My father's voice becomes fainter, and tears start pouring from my eyes. I still haven't managed to get air back in my chest and I can't make out the sound of my father anymore. But for some reason I can feel his arms around me. I look around to try to see him but my tears have blurred my vision. My breath comes whooshing back in, but I use it immediately to cry out._

_"I can't see you! Where are you?"_

_"I'm here, Katniss. Right here." I can hear hi, feel him, but all I can see is green from the leaves, and grass surrounding me _

_"No. Gone. You're gone," I whimper_

_"Shhh…Katniss. I'm right here with you. You're safe. You're in your bed." Suddenly I know it's not mydad's voiceI've been responding to, butPeeta's. I'm not in the woods, but in my own bed. It's not my dad holding me; it's Peeta._

I slowly open my eyes, but I can't tell from the light coming in the window what time of day it is. On my good days, I'm up at dawn, but this is apparently a bad day.

When I remember Peeta's next to me holding me, I'm suddenly far too warm under the covers. I quickly kick them back and slide down to the other end of the bed.

"What are you doing here?" I ask with a little too much accusation in my voice.

But Peeta doesn't rise to the attack. "I just came to bring you some breakfast. I was going to leave it in the kitchen, but then I heard you."

Heard me screaming no doubt. I do that most nights, and it's never brought Peeta up here to my bed before. "Was I screaming?"

He looks down into his lap almost abashed when I ask. "Um…no. You were crying. Weeping actually," he says softly. "It was too much. I had to try and do something."

It's then that I remember that Peeta's having a hard time too. That hearing me cry may have unnerved him somehow. I remember at this moment that I'm supposed to be trying to help others now. I move a little closer to Peeta; just close enough to reach out and touch his arm.

"It's okay, I'm fine. It was just a dream."

He looks up at me with watery eyes. It takes me aback at first. I'm not sure I've ever seen Peeta cry.

"What was it about?" he asks.

I'm hesitant at first to say anything. This isn't the sort of thing we usually talk about. In fact, the most we ever talk is always about the book. Otherwise, it's small talk or topics of no importance. But now it's time to suck it up.

"My Dad," I croak out. Two simple words bring on a fresh wave of sadness, but also a pressing need to talk more about it. "I was thinking before I fell asleep about what it was like when he was still alive. When I was just a kid and I didn't have so much responsibility weighing me down."

"When you weren't struggling to survive?" he inquires.

I nod slowly trying to keep the sadness in check. "I guess those thoughts morphed into my nightmares."

Peeta nods knowingly. I'm sure he can relate. He stands and walks toward the door to leave.

"I should go so you can get dressed. There's some food in the kitchen if you want it."

He's almost through the door before I call him back. "Peeta?"

He pokes his head back around the doorjamb. "Yes?"

"Thanks," I say. And even though I really want to thank him for coming up here when he heard me crying, and for holding me while I struggled against the dream world, I can't do it. "For the food."

He smiles faintly, he must know I mean more than that. Out of everyone that's still alive, he knows me the best.

"Anytime, Katniss," he says and then he's gone.

I stand up off the bed and stretch my arms over my head. I don't feel completely rested, but it was definitely easier to wake up this morning having Peeta there to comfort me and to talk to.

I head to the bathroom so I can shower and wash the tears from my face. The warm water is soothing to more than just tired muscles. It's invigorating and helps clear my head. Normally, I'd shower and get dressed quickly so I can get out hunting at a decent time. But since I've already woken up late I let myself linger in the warmth and decide to skip hunting today. I let my mind wander trying to think of what else I can do with my day that isn't completely about me.

Once I'm out of the shower, I dry off, dress, and fly down the stairs for breakfast. I make it quick and just eat two of the cheese buns Peeta has brought over and throw back a glass of milk. Then with my mouth still full, I grab my dad's jacket; instead of going to the woods, I head straight for the town square.

I walk around slowly, and even though I've seen the improvements and the rebuilding nearly everyday,I realize I haven't really been looking closely. The people seem much happier, freer. Even the new buildings are full of life. Maybe it's just because it's early spring and life is blooming all around. I can't help comparing the changing seasons to the change our country is going through. And maybe Plutarch's right; maybe this time it will stick. Maybe things will only continue to get better from here on out.

I stop mid-stride when I realize I'm staring at a vacant space where the bakery used to be.

The ash and rubble has all been cleared away, but no one's rebuilt anything here yet. Is the land Peeta's? At that moment, I know what I need to do.

My feet are moving swiftly so that I won't have the chance to change my mind. And then I'm in the newly built Justice Building inquiring after the lot. Who owns it? How would one build there? Do I need a permit? Where can I get the funds? The officials look slightly stunned at my vivacity. I don't come around here very often, and I certainly don't talk this much when I do poke my head out of my house or the woods.

I'm actually excited when I leave the building with a folder full of information. The land is Peeta's, the government will pay to rebuild and refurnish (they are the ones who destroyed it after all), and there's a building permit in amongst other various papers in the folder. I didn't realize how energizing it would be doing something so new and unknown.

Instead of heading straight for Peeta's house, though, I decide to look in on the progress they're making with the new factory. My mother was so excited to learn that they were going to start producing medicines here. At the time I didn't pay much mind to any new buildings, but I'm glad to see that they've found a better way to employ people here than by sending them to an early grave in the mines. Maybe with the mines closed the whole District will look a little cleaner too.

I don't linger long, in the fear someone might start talking to me, and after leaving the Justice Building, I'm a little over stimulated. It's frustrating how much time I've lost, having slept so late. So, instead of searching out Peeta to share my newly found information, I head to my backyard to check on my plants again. I can see tiny little sprouts just starting to peek out at me.

After I water them (it doesn't look like rain today), I go inside to eat a quick lunch. I'm not in the mood to pull anything together, so instead I just eat some more of what Peeta brought over this morning.

Once I'm done eating, I decide to start my housework. I don't want my house to start looking like Haymitch's. Only after it's been two hours, and I'm on my knees cleaning the fireplace in the living room, I can tell I'm stalling.

I turn around to the folder on the coffee table containing all the info on Peeta's land. My confidence from earlier has completely left me. I'm hoping Peeta will be just as excited as I was about rebuilding the bakery, but doubt is creeping in, and it's hard trying to keep it at bay. But I know if I back out now, I may never find the courage again.

Once again, I head out, folder in hand, without thinking too much about it. If I go back and forth too much in my decision I'll wind up throwing the folder into the trashcan. I don't feel like this is the same kind of lack of brain function that previously got me through the day, and my routines.

Before, my reason for not wanting to think about anything was to prevent any pain that was sure to follow. It's a wonder that I have been able to work on the book this long, because it requires much more thought than I am usually comfortable with. It's possible, though, that Peeta's presence lessens the ache some. But now I felt like I need to trust my instincts, and act on my impulses. It seems like the best way to follow the good doctor's instructions, and Peeta's advice. Because by doing something for someone else, I was feeling more alive, like I really was living, and not just taking up space.

Standing at Peeta's front door, I make two short raps, fighting the urge to flee down the stairs and back to my own house. It's a relief when Hazelle is the one to greet me.

"Katniss, hello!" she exclaims before pulling me into the house and her arms. "Come in, come in," she continues, and grabs my hand to pull me toward the couch.

"Hi, Hazelle," I mumble, feeling slightly overwhelmed by her enthusiastic welcome. It looks like she can tell because she sits down on a chair instead of joining me on the couch.

"I'm sorry to be so exuberant. It's just good to see you. And I won't deny I'm surprised to see you come over of your own accord," she says with a stern smile. Hazelle has always been one to speak the truth, what she's really thinking. And it's certainly no secret that I've never willingly come here by myself. "So, to what do we owe this visit?"

"I was actually looking for Peeta. I have something to show him." I look down at the folder in my lap thinking for a moment of telling Hazelle everything I found out, but I want Peeta to know first.

"Well, just sit tight," she says before rising and walking toward the stairs. "I think he's just painting."

While Hazelle is gone, I take a moment to look around me. The victor's houses are all very similar when it comes to layout and furnishings, but there's a distinct difference between this house and my own. The couch I'm sitting on has more than one small throw pillow, and the fireplace's mantle has photographs and some of Peeta's sketches. The desk has a pile of mail on it and another of what I'm assuming is some opened letters. But it's more than just having more dust collectors than me. There's a completely different feeling about this room, this whole house. It feels comfortable, lived in, and happy. My house looks exactly the same as the day I moved into it. My mother and Prim had left their imprint there just like Hazelle has done here, but I removed any reminders of them on one of my bad days.

I look up when I hear footsteps on the stairs. I assume Hazelle has stayed upstairs when I hear only one pair of feet. Peeta doesn't do a very good job of masking the shock on his face at seeing me sitting in his living room.

"I thought Hazelle was playing a trick on me when she said you were here to show me something," he says as he makes his way over to the chair Hazelle had just vacated. He sits down, and it's a little awkward as I'm sure he's waiting for me to begin, but my word bank is empty. "So, what brings you here?"

"Um…well I thought about what you said last night, and it made me realize how selfish I've been this past year." I exhaled loudly. It was harder than I figured it would be to admit my own faults.

"You aren't selfish, Katniss," Peeta begins, but I cut him off by raising my hand. I need him to hear this.

"No, Peeta. I've been awful. It sickens me to confess that I haven't given one thought to how difficult it must be for you to cope with everything that's happened. I know you appreciate the fact that I've opened my home to you and that we work on the book and eat dinner together most nights. But it's nowhere near what I should be doing for you; what I should be allowing you to do for me. I don't want to be Haymitch. I don't want to be a hermit, and push everyone away." I pause for a moment to collect myself. I don't think I've spoken this many words consecutively in months, maybe even years.

"So, as I walked around the town square today, I came across the land where your family's bakery used to be. It's all cleared away, and ready to be rebuilt. I wanted to show you this," I say and put the folder on the coffee table between us. I open it slowly so he can look at the enclosed information. "This is everything you need to start rebuilding and open a new bakery. I even thought that since you already have a house you could use the second floor as a painting studio instead of living there." I don't look up right away after I finish speaking. I'm too nervous. But after a couple minutes pass in complete silence, I chance a look up at Peeta. I scoot back on the couch a few inches when I see Peeta's hands shaking. I'm not sure what reaction I expected, but when Peeta's hands shake, it doesn't usually have good connotations.

"What? You…you have no right to start meddling in my business!" Peeta sinks his head into his trembling hands, and I can see the tension in his body as every muscle is pulled taut, making it look like he's fighting to maintain control. For the moment, I'm frozen on the couch, trying to decide whether or not Peeta might be a threat, or if he'll be able to handle this. He rubs his face furiously before pushing his fingers through his hair.

"I know you mean well," Peeta starts, and then pauses. His eyes are locked on the offensive folder, and his jaw is still rigid. He stands suddenly, making me flinch, and push myself deeper into the cushions. "Why do you keep doing that around me?" he shouts, turning to glare at me finally. "How many times do I have to tell you I'm not going to hurt you?" But before I have a chance to reply, he's headed out the door and down the porch steps. I look down at the pillow in my arms, that I hadn't realized I'd grabbed. My fingers are digging deep into the fabric, and I almost want to lose the control Peeta had held onto so well, and rip the stupid decoration apart. I try to take a few calming breaths, and soon my body relaxes and my fingers release their death grip.

Confusion is the biggest thing I'm feeling right now. I can't understand what would make Peeta react that way. Especially considering he broke down my door only yesterday when he was meddling in my business, which the thought of makes me angry at him for being such a hypocrite.

I've been so wrapped up in trying to regain my composure that I jump when Hazelle touches me on the shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Katniss. I didn't mean to startle you." I turn to her, and upon seeing my face, she makes her way around the couch. "Are you ok? What happened?" She sits down, just as my breathing has gone back to normal. I lean forward and drag the open folder across the coffee table to rest in front of Hazelle. I finger the patterns on the pillow still sitting in my lap while Hazelle picks up the folder and starts looking through the papers.

"I wanted to help him rebuild it," I whisper after a few minutes of silence. "I thought he might like his own space again, and a proper kitchen for baking."

"And he wasn't too keen on that idea?" she asks, and places the closed folder back on the table.

"No, not at all. He was angry, actually." Hazelle places her arm around my shoulders giving me an encouraging squeeze.

"Oh, honey. I don't think he was angry; or, at least, not angry at you."

"What do you mean?" I ask. It certainly seemed like he was furious with me from the look on his face.

"He misses them. I mentioned the bakery to him in passing a few months ago, and he had an unfavorable reaction then as well." She stood, but held onto my hand. "Just give him some time, and be ready when he wants to talk." I stood and followed her as she started toward the kitchen.

"What if he doesn't want to talk to me?" She smiled at me then, how I imagine a mother smiles when she knows more than you do.

"He always wants to talk to you, Katniss. He's just been waiting for you to be ready."

"Oh," I say, rather pathetically. But the more I think about it, I think I am ready to talk now. I'm sure it'll still be difficult, but I know this is what Dr. Aurelius and Peeta both mean. It's time to open up and move on.

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks for reading! I can't wait to see what you think!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I hope everyone had a great Holiday! Sorry for the wait. The Holidays for me were crazy! And I'm a slow writer. I hate making you wait so long for chapters that aren't super long, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. **

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><p>I walk into my house, close the door, and lean back into it, feeling shaky still from the excitement earlier. But strangely, it's a good shaky. I'm still worried about Peeta's reaction. I don't want him to be upset, but talking to Hazelle after he left has given me new hope.<p>

She had invited me to stay for dinner. She mentioned that the kids, who would be arriving home from school any minute, would be thrilled to see me. And that's when I hightailed it out of there. I've had as much excitement as I can handle for one day. I'm also quite certain that Rory suspects that I'm the reason Gale didn't come back to Twelve. And maybe that's true, but it's nothing I did on purpose. Gale chose his path, a path of endless strategies and violence. I want my path to be simple, innocent, and happy.

I walk over to the book with a dandelion in my hand. It's one of the first ones I've seen this spring, so I pulled it from the ground near the bottom of Peeta's steps. I grab a fresh piece of paper, and instead of writing a memory or description of something, I write directly to Peeta.

_Some people call these weeds, but I know that they're so much more than that. The day after you gave me the bread, and very nearly saved my life, I saw a dandelion in the grass at school. It was the first one of the season. When I saw it, I felt completely rejuvenated. That one little yellow flower helped me recall the skills my family needed to survive. It gave me hope that we could do it; that we could start again with a new direction for our lives. I don't know if I would have seen that dandelion if I hadn't just been looking at your face, trying to silently thank you for being the good person you were. Because you are good, Peeta. You're honest, genuinely kind, and honorable. And I'm not. I'm bitter, angry, and greedy. I take, over and over again, what I need to survive, and I never give back. I need your help. I want to be good, and as happy as I can be. But I can't do that on my own. I can't do that without you._

When I finish writing, I put the dandelion on the page and place another piece over it before sliding it all to the back of the book. I don't plan to show it to him just yet, if ever. But it was almost cathartic writing that. Because it was something I needed to admit to myself. I needed to realize that Peeta really does make things easier. Having him by my side, knowing that he has lived through everything I have, makes it a little easier to breathe when I feel like the weight of the world is crushing my lungs. And immediately, I think of Gale's words when he said I would choose whom I couldn't survive without. But it wasn't just me making that choice. Peeta didn't have to come back here. He could've taken a fancy job somewhere just like Gale did, but I don't think he can survive without me either. Apparently, Gale can.

I put the book back in its resting place, and walk to the kitchen to start dinner. I told Hazelle to make sure Peeta knew that he was still welcome here to eat if he wanted. As I start pulling out ingredients and putting it all together I realize how much I miss his presence in the kitchen while I cook. Even though we don't talk much, it's still comforting to have another body here. I've grown so used to him here at dinnertime that his absence is noticeable. But I make do and throw together a casserole of meat, mashed potatoes, and some mixed vegetables. My mother used to call it shepherd's pie, but I'm not sure where that name ever came from.

After throwing the food in the oven, I put all the dishes I've dirtied into the sink and start washing. Just as I finish up, turn the water off, and dry my hands, I can feel that the atmosphere in the room has changed. I don't need to turn around to know that he's here, but I do anyway. He's standing in the doorway, looking at the floor with one hand in his pocket and the other picking at the paint on the doorjamb.

"Hey, Peeta," I say, thinking that Peeta is probably uncomfortable enough without having to initiate the conversation.

"Hey," he says, finally looking up at me from underneath his gold lashes. "You still made dinner?" It's an odd question that sounds more like a statement, especially because the smells wafting out of the oven are proof that there's food cooking somewhere.

"Of course I did." I move to a cabinet and grab two glasses to fill with water. Peeta takes his with the hand pulled from his pocket, and gulps down nearly half the glass. I take small sips of my own and lean against the counter to wait for the food to finish. "I'm  
>glad you came over, Peeta." I say, trying to help him relax a little. He looks guilty, and I want—no, I need him to know that everything is fine.<p>

"Are you sure? I'm sorry I blew up like that—"

"Its fine, Peeta," I say, cutting off anymore apologizing from him. I don't need to hear it. I already know how much his flashbacks upset him. "I understand why you got upset. But I don't think I did anything wrong, either."

"No, you didn't," he says, stepping a couple feet further into the room. "I just—" he starts, but gets cut off by the timer this time. I set my water down, and grab a towel to pull the dish out. Peeta moves behind me to a cabinet and grabs plates and utensils to set at the table. I smile slightly, knowing that this is what I missed while I was cooking. The ease with which we both move around the kitchen and around each other is pleasant. I set the food on the table between us and we both take our seats. We each dish for ourselves, and eat in silence for a few minutes.

"What were you going to say earlier?" I ask, hoping he'll continue his original thought. I watch him, waiting for an answer, while he takes another bite and then starts pushing his food around his plate. I take a drink, and set the glass back down when he starts talking.

"My dad's the one who taught me how to do the cakes," he finally says, and it's not quite what I expected. I don't respond right away, wanting to give him a chance to continue his train of thought. "It was kind of our thing. We used to spend hours together, and my mom would complain that we were taking too long. My brothers called me a girl because I enjoyed it so much, but my dad said they just didn't have the patience or steady enough hands. They took after my mother."

I look down and take another bite, expecting him to keep talking. When I hear the fork hit the plate, I look up quickly to see Peeta's hands shaking again. My own fork falls, and before I realize what I'm doing, I reach across the table to grab one of his hands and hold it firmly in mine. Almost immediately, his body relaxes at my touch, and his eyes stare at our hands. I'm not sure what he sees, but I'm focused on the fact that I've never touched Peeta during a flashback before. And I definitely didn't recoil away from him.

"I'm sorry about that," he says after taking a few measured breaths. I pull my hand away slowly. It already feels cold after only being in his for a couple minutes. "I just don't know if I can do it without them," he admits.

"Do what?" I whisper.

"Reopen the bakery. Own my own business. That land can't belong to me. It belongs to my dad," he says, and keeps pushing his food around a little more forcefully now.

"It's yours now, Peeta. You told me that we needed to start making memories. Well, I think these are the kind of memories your dad would want you to have." We're both silent for a moment before he raises his gaze to look at me. It's a little unnerving at first and I want to look away from the intimate contact, but I have a  
>feeling Peeta needs me to fight against my reclusive tendencies.<p>

"Will you help me?" he asks me, so much emotion in those blue eyes. He's scared, lonely, excited, desperate. And I can't say no. I have to push myself. If Peeta is willing to take a risk, I need to hold his hand and jump off the cliff with him.

"Of course I will," I answer, sounding much more confident then I feel.

We finish the rest of our meal in silence. Then he helps me wash the remaining dishes, and I put the leftover food away in the fridge. I walk into the living room when we're done, and sit on the couch with one leg tucked under me. I don't grab the book even though we haven't worked on it at all today.

Peeta joins me on the other end of the couch. He sits facing forward until I begin to speak. He relaxes slightly and turns toward me.

"Tell me more about them," I say, knowing that this is so long overdue.

"My mother wasn't always mean, you know," he says with a slight smirk. "She was just very particular, and strict. She used to say that if the running of the business were left to my father we'd be ruined. It was probably true. He always tried to give things away for free half of the time." He pauses and looks towards the fireplace.

"Are you cold? I can start a fire," I say with a grimace, knowing that I just cleaned it earlier today.

"No. No, I'm fine." He turns his face back to mine to continue. "I didn't really know my brothers that well." His face falls slightly. "They're the ones that taught me to wrestle, so I guess I could thank them for that, but we didn't do much else together. I do miss my  
>mother and my brothers, but it's my dad who's the hardest to believe is really gone." He goes quiet again, and picks at invisible fuzzies on his pants. "He was a great man. He taught me so much more than how to bake and decorate cakes. He showed me how important it is to be honest, kind, and true to what you believe in."<p>

"Is that what you wanted to do in the first Games?" I ask, once again feeling so pathetic sitting next to someone so good. Like Prim was.

"Yes. And I think that's why it's getting so much easier to fight against the hijacking. Because that's who I was for sixteen years, and they can't just erase all of that in a matter of months. When I think of how good my father was, I know that that's what I need to work towards becoming."

Peeta doesn't continue, and I don't speak while I try to let what he said sink in. I think how wonderful it must be for Peeta to have had someone in his life that he could look up to, someone who could model for him how a person should live his life. My own father did that for me early in my life, but the years following his death filled with tesserae, reapings, harsh winters, and a distant mother managed to accomplish what the Capitol couldn't do with Peeta. I want so badly to be more like him. I want to strive for goodness, but it's difficult when most of your thoughts quickly turn unpleasant.

"What're you thinking?" he asks, pulling me from my reflection.

There's such a large part of me that doesn't want to share everything with him, a part that wants to hold onto all my thoughts and feelings for only me to know. But I feel like this day has become a turning point for us, and that this conversation has helped us break through the tedium that previously ruled our time together.

"Just thinking about what you said," I start reluctantly. "I wish I could do the same." I pull my leg out from under me, using the change in position to try to cover my uneasiness.

"What's that?"

"Try to change. I feel—," I begin, but then stop because we don't normally talk about our feelings. It feels natural to be sitting here talking to him like this, but it doesn't make it any less scary.

"Go on, please. I'm loving this," he says, gesturing to the space between us, and giving me an encouraging smile.

"I want to be more like you, Peeta. I want to be like my sister." I pause, my voice catching momentarily when I think of her. "But I don't think I have the ability. My mind is not wired the same way as yours. How can I be like you when my thoughts don't mirror my actions?" I bring my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. I stare at the floor in front of the fireplace, but my eyes are unfocused.

"I know what you mean. It's very similar to the mind-battles I used to have trying to figure out which memories were real."

I glance over at Peeta who's looking at me with a new kind of fervor. He really is loving this.

"For the longest time after the hijacking, my instincts were in direct contrast to whatever fake memory they had implanted," he admits. It's one of the few times Peeta's mentioned his hijacking experience. It's not a subject we like to linger on for long, but it does seem to bear a striking resemblance to what I've described. Although, I'm sure what Peeta went through is ten times worse than my own minor trials.

"Please, Peeta. Don't make me feel even worse than I already do. My crap is daisies compared to what you've lived through."

He startles me by laughing suddenly. "Katniss, I'm not going to argue with you over who's had it worse."

I try not to smile, but one corner of my mouth lifts slightly, only to fall right back down. "But how can you be so happy still after everything that's happened; after everything we've lost?"

He sobers quickly after that, and regards me thoughtfully. "It's not without effort, and I'm not always happy." His voice trails off, and we sit in silence for a moment or two. "You know, the mere fact that you want to change is a step in the right direction. Just be patient, give it some time, and trust your instincts. This," he gestured again to the two of us. "Is good. Its progress."

"Yeah," I agree, and it does feel like progress. It certainly isn't easy talking about all of this, and I don't want to think about the nightmares I'm sure to have tonight, but getting to talk to Peeta like this is therapeutic almost, and it definitely beats talking to Dr. Aurelius.

"I should go," Peeta says, and stands from the couch, after seeing me try to fight back a yawn.

He starts walking towards the door, and I follow to lock it behind him. When he reaches it, instead of opening the door, he turns around and pulls me against him into a tight embrace. His arms wrap around me completely, and I tense at the close contact and overwhelming warmth radiating from his body. I don't struggle to get free, deciding just to let him get it out of his system, but then I feel my body start to relax. My arms rise, instinctually, but my mind intervenes and I hesitate briefly before shoving my inhibitions aside to return the hug. It takes effort to make my body loosen up, but I'm glad I do because it feels amazing. I had forgotten how comforting his arms were. I mold myself to him, and let my head rest against his chest.

We stand there motionless for what seems like hours, but I know it was only a handful of minutes. All too soon, I hear him sigh and pull away.

"Hmmm…that was…nice," he says with a soft smile. "Thank you. This has turned into one of the best days since moving back here." He opens the door finally.

"Good night, Peeta," I tell him, feeling too that this day has been quite a different experience. And even though it was challenging, I'm glad I ventured away from my usual routines. I'm glad I could put such a peaceful look on Peeta's face, and I wonder if my face looks anything like his.

"Good night, Katniss," he replies before shutting the door behind him.

I lock up, turn out lights, and proceed upstairs to start my bedtime routine. I pull out clothes for sleeping and an outfit for tomorrow, and head to the bathroom to change and clean up. When I finally look in the mirror after brushing my teeth and washing my face, I'm surprised by who I see staring back at me. Her skin is slightly pinker than usual, and her eyes are brighter and seem to suggest life in their owner. I hate to admit that they're right, but I think straying from my routines, even just slightly, may have done some good.

* * *

><p><strong>Until next time...<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thanks to You May Call Me Goddess** **Bitch Goddess for being my super awesome Beta. I won't make you wait any longer than you had to; we'll just jump right in. **

* * *

><p>I wake suddenly when I fall out of bed, tangled up in my blankets. I'm panting, covered in sweat, and even though I know now that I'm in my own room, I still grab my neck and look around frantically for Annie.<p>

_It was my third nightmare of the evening. I was walking the underground halls of District 13. I kept making turns, never coming to a stop, until the path I was on became a dead end. Instead of turning around and walking back the way I came, I continued forward toward Annie who was standing at the end of the hall. She was wearing her wedding dress, and she looked just as beautiful as she had that day. _

_When I was only a few feet from her, she turned sideways and I noticed her swollen stomach. She placed her hands protectively over her abdomen and began sobbing violently. I reached out to try to comfort her, but she recoiled away from me, backing into a corner and screaming at the top her lungs. She continued to hold her stomach when suddenly her screams became fueled by pain instead of fear. She doubled over herself, and I grabbed her by the shoulders, not caring if she was afraid of me. I started checking her for injuries, and when I looked down my eye caught sight of the pool of blood on the floor. Bright red blood was running down Annie's legs to puddle around her feet. I stared in horror at what I was sure was her and Finnick's baby dying, or certainly heading down that road. _

_I moved my hands slowly from Annie's shoulders down to her protruding belly, but she pulled strength from somewhere and shoved me away. I staggered back, with my mouth still gaping, and ran into to someone else. For a brief moment, I felt relief, thinking that maybe it was a doctor, until I turned around completely to see Finnick standing before me. I tried to force sound out of my mouth to scream at the sight of him, but I was stunned into silence. _

_His whole body was missing chunks of flesh, and I could only assume it was because of the reptile mutts in the Capitol. He wasn't bleeding, but instead his skin had begun to turn green and decay. The stench had me dry heaving. I covered my mouth and tried to move past him, but he darted in front of me surprisingly fast for a corpse with a deformed body. _

"_First you kill me, and now you've come after my unborn child?" he snarled at me through bloodless lips and half his teeth. _

"_I didn't kill you, Finnick, I swear." _

_He started walking toward me now, forcing me back in the direction of blood-soaked Annie. _

"_Didn't you, Katniss? You killed us all with your Nightlock. Now we're just returning the favor."_

_He was right up on me now, and I felt Annie directly behind me. Finnick pinned my arms to my sides while Annie raised one red hand clutching a knife, and quickly slit my throat from ear to ear before I even had a chance to struggle. We three collapsed on the floor, my blood mixing with Annie's, when I heard the unmistakable wail of an infant before tumbling off my bed. _

I allow myself to lie on the floor amongst the crumpled blankets, while I try to convince myself that it wasn't really my fault. I did what I had to do. I couldn't have saved Finnick any more than I could have saved Rue. But my feeble attempts do nothing to lessen the crushing guilt I feel burrowing deep into my body and settling in my bones.

I only give myself ten minutes to wallow before forcing my limbs to start moving. I push up into a sitting position, and decide to rest for a few minutes more, before using the post at the foot of the bed to pull myself to standing. I drag myself to the bathroom, and when I look in the mirror, the face I see is not the one from the night before. I don't linger in front of the mirror, but proceed to shower, lotion, and dress for the day.

I scowl at my broken door before leaving the house with jacket and game bag in hand just as the first faint light of morning touches the house. I'm clinging as hard as I can to my routines this morning, afraid that if I stray like I did yesterday I'll be curled in a ball in bed all day. I don't feel like being dragged out of bed again by Peeta.

There aren't any bull's-eyes today. In fact, my timing is poor, my hands aren't steady, and as a result, my shooting is sloppy. After three hours, I head home with only a rabbit from one of my traps. It's a scrawny thing, and hardly seems worth it.

I can't bring myself to head home yet, so instead I make my way towards the pond. It's much too cold to go swimming, but I splash some water on my hands and face to clean the forest off them. I sit there on the edge, letting my fingers dangle in the water while all the memories from this place start running through my mind.

At first, I shared this place with my father. We would clean up after a hunting lesson (I got much dirtier back then), and he taught me how to swim out here. Some days we'd spend more time swimming than we had hunting.

Then Gale and I would come here. Knowing now how he felt about me, those times together must have meant something completely different to him than they did to me. There are days I miss him. I miss having someone out here with me. I miss my friend. But we aren't kids swimming in a pond anymore. We've both changed, and it's not so easy to just be friends.

I stand up, dry my hands on my shirt, and start walking back to the fence. I make my way slowly, letting my eyes roam over all the new growth. The trees are still mostly bare except for small green buds that dot the branches. The birds have made their way back, and it's a nice change from the winter silence. I've always enjoyed solitude, and even craved it when feeling overwhelmed, but recently the quiet in my life hasn't been as comforting as usual. I miss Prim's laughter, but I miss hearing my own too. I think the last time I really laughed was before the first Games. I miss music now more than I ever have before. My mother and Prim used to sing together sometimes. I never joined in, preferring just to listen.

I walk through the town square lost among the noises in my head. I'm still reminiscing when I walk through the front door, and see Peeta walking down the stairs with a toolbox in hand.

"Hey. Sorry, I just let myself in. I figured you wouldn't mind since I fixed your door," he said, sitting the box on the table by the door.

"Oh, thanks." I wondered this morning how I was going to fix it. "Where'd you get the tools?"

"Thom let me borrow them. I went to see him this morning about rebuilding the bakery," he replies.

My stomach grumbles loudly, and I'm acutely aware of the fact that I didn't eat anything for breakfast.

"Have you eaten yet?" Peeta asks when my stomach complains again.

"No. I left in a hurry," I say before making my way in to the kitchen. It seems Peeta's been in here as well; there's a basket of biscuits sitting on the counter. I pull the butter out of the fridge, and slather some on a biscuit. Butter is one luxury I still get excited over, never having had it before I became a Victor. I go over what Peeta said about the tools in my head again, when confusion strikes me. "Why'd you go see Thom?"

"He's started a construction business. He's practically the whole reason District Twelve has been rebuilt so quickly," he states simply.

I'm knocked sideways again at another thing I didn't pay attention to. There's been so much going on around me, and I haven't noticed any of it. I feel like I've only now started to wake up from the nightmare of my past three years.

"I had no idea," I whisper, and I set down the last bite of my biscuit, having suddenly lost my appetite.

"It's okay," Peeta says, trying to reassure me.

But I don't feel okay. I feel rotten for completely shutting out the world I once belonged to; a world I still live in, and can't deny anymore.

"So, what did he say?" I ask and brush crumbs off my pants.

"Well, we didn't get that far. I asked to borrow the tools first so I could come over here. I'm heading back there now, actually." He pauses, and bites his lip. "Do you want to come?" His eyes are trained on a spot far away on the floor, but when he glances at me suddenly, I know I can't refuse. I think of my routines, and how right now I'd love to start cleaning and doing my laundry, but all that can wait. Peeta shouldn't have to wait on me anymore.

"Sure, I'll come," I say, and I hope he doesn't hear the trepidation in my voice. "Just let me go change first." I don't wait for a reply, but shoot upstairs to my room to change out of my dirty clothes.

I'm in and out of my room quickly, changing only my pants since my shirt managed to stay clean under my jacket. But I hesitate at the top of the stairs. I give myself a moment to take a few deep breaths. This is definitely a break in my routines, and I don't want to lose my tenuous grasp on control. It's only Thom, after all. I know Thom.

My feet start moving swiftly down the steps before my mind really registers that we've changed positions. Peeta steps out of the kitchen to meet me at the bottom.

"Thanks again for coming with me," he says, and goes to grab the toolbox. I'm glad that's all he says instead of offering me an out I gladly would take.

"Sure," I reply. I just need to keep telling myself I'm doing this for Peeta. Which in turn makes me think of everything he's done for me. I can't let him down now.

We leave the house, and head toward the Town Square. It's still chilly out, but the sun is actually shining today instead of hiding behind a blanket of clouds. Is that what I've been doing all along? Hiding behind a blanket? I hardly think I'm shining now, but at least I'm out of my house with a new destination in mind.

We walk the entire way in silence, and it's not long before we're standing in front a small red building. Even from a distance, I can smell the new wood and paint covering the siding and white trim. Peeta steps to the side and ushers me up the steps first. This time I don't pause, but open the door the second I meet it. A bell rings when I step through, and Peeta follows behind me.

"Peeta, welcome back. And Katniss too," Thom says with a smile, and stands up from behind a desk covered in papers and floor plans. The inside of the building is as nondescript as the outside. Thom's desk is accompanied by one other just as equally covered in paperwork. The only difference in the two is that opposite Thom's desk are two small chairs facing it.

"Thanks for letting me borrow your tools. It definitely made my job easier," Peeta says and hands the toolbox over to Thom who places it on the floor beside his desk.

"Oh, you're welcome. It's my pleasure. I could've done it for you…"

"No need," Peeta interrupts him, and I can't fight the light blush that spreads across my cheeks at the knowledge that it was my bedroom door he had to fix.

"Well, please, sit down," he says, gesturing to the chairs across from him. "You mentioned earlier you were looking to build?"

After a brief moment of silence, I look over at Peeta who's apparently lost his voice at the moment.

"Um, yes…the bakery, actually," I manage to sputter. Thom's still smiling, seemingly oblivious to Peeta's momentary lapse. But my voice has apparently jarred him back into focus.

"Really? That sounds great," Thom says with sincerity.

"Yes. I've inherited the land from my parents," Peeta's voice catches, but he plows on. "I think the District could use a real bakery again."

"We were also thinking of making the second story a studio space for painting," I add. I glance at Peeta whose eyes silently thank me. I'm happy I could this for him. I like seeing Peeta happy. Just like I used to thrive on making Prim happy.

Thom takes the lead, and after about thirty minutes, he has a rough sketch of a floor plan for both stories. We all stand and shake hands. Thom promises to have a more complete draft for Peeta to approve in a few days. When we step outside and the door closes behind us, we both exhale, relieved to be over the first hurdle.

"So, that went well," Peeta says with a sheepish grin. We go down the steps and start walking.

"It did," I reply. Thom made it pretty easy, giving suggestions here and there. Plus, Peeta remembered well enough how everything was set up previously. I sat there in silence for the most part, offering a smile every so often when Peeta would waver. "How are you?" I ask, knowing how upset he got only yesterday.

"Um…I'm okay, I think." He stops, and looks in the direction of his vacant lot. I get a little worried seeing his face so distorted with sadness.

"You do enjoy baking, right?" I start wondering if I've pushed this on him. "I mean, if you don't want to own a bakery, don't do it," I state. I feel like I'm back peddling. I just figured Peeta would want this.

"Yes, I enjoy it. I love it, actually," he says, and then he smirks. "I used to think about owning the place one day, and of all the changes I'd make once I was in charge. I'll be able to run everything the way I want now." His smirk falls and he tears his eyes from the empty space to look at me. "I just figured I'd be thirty before it ever became mine. I'm only eighteen. What if I screw it up?"

His eyes are pleading, and I'm not sure how to answer him at first. But then I thought about the last time I took on a large responsibility before I was ready.

"When I first started hunting, I was terrible at it. Sure, my dad had showed me how to use a bow, but I was only shooting for fun back then, not trying to feed a family. We ate a lot of dandelions, greens, and berries that first month. I tried using my dad's plant book, but it was hard when so many things looked so similar. Once, I accidentally picked the wrong berries and we spent the night vomiting."

"I don't understand…"

"What I'm trying to say is that you're going to make mistakes," I explain.

"Thanks for the encouragement," he mumbles.

"I just mean that even though I knew the woods and had spent hours with my dad, I still made mistakes, until I got the hang of it. Eventually, I was able to feed and take care of all three of us fairly well most of the time. You've been working in the bakery for years, and you'll probably make a mistake here and there, but that's okay. It won't be long before you'll have a prosperous new business on your hands."

"I'll need to hire some extra help…" he says, looking at me sideways.

"Oh, no! I much prefer the woods."

"Well, I can't run a bakery all by myself," he whines. His pleas do nothing to me though.

"So, hire Hazelle, or one of her kids," I offer back.

"They wouldn't be nearly as much fun to work with," he says with a pout. I think he's trying to be cute, but I don't find it very endearing.

"Oh, yes, because I'm a bowl full of excitement," I say, heavy on the sarcasm. He doesn't try to convince me any further, and we finish the walk back home in silence.

We part ways at my house, and I go in to start on my chores for the afternoon. I walk out the back door first and reposition my tiny plants so they're in the sun again. It's too cool for the sun to dry them out, so they're slightly damp still from yesterday's watering. I make a note to water them tomorrow though.

Back inside, I set myself to cleaning a house that isn't dirty, and washing the small amount of clothing I've accumulated over a couple days. I'm in the middle of wiping down windows when there's a knock at the door.

"Hey, Hazelle," I say after I open the door. I move aside so Hazelle can come in.

"Afternoon, Katniss," she says, and goes straight to the study to start. I escape out the front before she reaches the study door. I don't like to be in the house when she's cleaning those rooms, so instead I start washing the windows outside and sweep the porch. It doesn't take long to do the front and back porches and windows, and I end up frowning at the windows on the side of the house wishing I had a ladder so I could reach them too. I'm eyeing the drainpipe when Peeta appears at my side distracting me from my dangerous thoughts.

"What are you staring at?" he asks, following my gaze up the side of the house.

"I want to wash the windows up there," I state simply.

"Why?"

"Because they're probably dirty." Why else does one clean windows? "Peeta do you ever clean?" I wonder aloud. With Hazelle living there, I bet he doesn't lift a rag.

"Of course I do," he says defensively. "I clean the kitchen after baking every time. My bedroom and bathroom are my responsibility too."

"But you don't do windows do you?"

"No. I don't do windows," he concedes. I give him a smug smile, and he pushes my shoulder gently.

"I can stop bringing you pastries, you know," he threatens, but it's with a smile, so I'm not scared. "I bet Thom's got a ladder he'd let you borrow," he suggests, and I'm tempted to take him on the idea when Hazelle walks back outside.

"Hey, Peeta," she says, and walks over to where we stand. "I'm all finished, Katniss."

"Thanks, Hazelle."

"You're welcome, honey," she says with a sympathetic smile. "That dinner invitation is good for tonight as well, if you'd like."

I look over at Peeta who's looking away from me, but still shakes his head slightly. "No thanks, Hazelle, maybe another day."

"Alright, but that's an open invite, so don't be afraid to stop by."

"Thanks again," I reply, and she squeezes my shoulder before turning back toward her house.

"Shall we go get that ladder, or are you done cleaning?" Peeta asks me.

"No, I think I'm done." We walk back inside and I put away all my cleaning supplies before joining Peeta in the living room. But instead of sitting on the couch, I go to the desk.

"I'm going to write a letter to Annie," I tell Peeta who doesn't try to hide his surprise.

"Really? What's prompted you?" he asks, and I know he's curious as to what's finally motivated me to write Annie. She wrote to both of us when she gave birth to a baby boy, sending a picture as well, but I couldn't bring myself answer her. But after last night's dream, I can't get them out of my mind.

"I had a dream about them, Finnick and Annie…and the baby." My voice breaks at the end. I grab paper and get right to it before Peeta asks anything else. I notice him grab the book and start sketching.

_Dear Annie,_

_Your son is beautiful. Peeta and I have put his picture right next to a sketch he did of Finnick in the book we've started to document our pasts. I hope you and the baby are well. I could be better, but I'm taking baby steps. I bet little Finnie is starting that now. He probably knows how to swim too. I hope you don't think I've neglected you. It's been a hard year. I'm sure you can relate. Please don't feel obligated to write me back if you don't want to. I just wanted to let you know I've been thinking of you, and hoping that you're okay._

_Yours truly,_

_Katniss Everdeen_

I sit back in the chair and reread the letter a few times, feeling that it's inadequate, but it's the best I can do right now. I seal it in an envelope, and put it on the edge of the desk to send out tomorrow. I lean back in the chair and let my eyes drift close for a few minutes. I wonder if this will ever get easier; if my vivid nightmares will ever lessen in intensity or quantity. I'm keeping my expectations low.

I peek over at Peeta to him sketching still. He doesn't notice my attention on him, so I take the moment to really _look_ at him. His more recent scars have faded, and are now nearly indistinguishable from his earlier oven burns. I linger on his hands, as I've done so many times before. I'm fascinated, contemplating the different tasks his hands are capable of; shooting a gun, wielding a knife, frosting a cake, shading cheekbones. I prefer the latter ones. I tear my eyes away from his hands and look over the rest of him. His body is so relaxed even though his face is pulled tight in concentration. It's probably very similar to how I look hunting.

He startles me suddenly by looking up and grinning at me.

"Caught ya!" he exclaims, and laughs at my scowl.

"I wasn't doing anything wrong," I say lamely in my defense.

"Not at all," he concedes. "I liked it," he admits.

"Of course you did," I reply, and roll my eyes. I don't look at Peeta for long periods, so I'm sure he revels in it when I do. On the other hand, I cringe when Peeta stares too long. Thankfully, he doesn't do it often.

He sets aside the drawing, and we silently make our way to the kitchen. There's a piecrust in the fridge he brought over earlier that he grabs and starts to roll out. I grab the last of the turkey I managed to shoot back in the fall, throw it in a pot of water with some peas and carrots, and turn on the stove. I cook some onions, add flour, milk, and broth, and let it thicken. I drain the meat and vegetables when they're finished and put them into the crust that Peeta's put into a dish. I pour the liquid over the meat mixture and Peeta puts another crust on top. He seals the two together, and I toss it in the oven. We're left with thirty minutes before its ready.

I start cleaning up, and washing the dishes. Peeta joins in, and it doesn't take long between the two of us. There's still fifteen minutes on the clock when we finish. Once again, the silence becomes uncomfortable for me. I hate it, and I hate that I don't find solace in it anymore.

"What's up, Katniss?" Peeta asks me, folding his arms and leaning back against the counter.

"It's nothing," I reply. I'm not sure why. It's just habit not to tell Peeta everything.

"You know I can tell when you're lying, right?" I want to huff and roll my eyes at him again, but he's at least broken the silence.

"I'm just getting a little irritated by the lack of noise."

"Really?" he says, pushing off the counter and unfolding his arms.

"I don't know why, but it's not as calming as it once was."

"Well, maybe that means you're ready for a little more human interaction," he suggests.

"Or maybe I'm growing tired of a quiet life," I snap back at him. I immediately wish I could suck the words back in. He doesn't have a comeback, and we're back to the silence.

"Are you?" he whispers, barely breaking through my internal berating. I can see in his eyes how insecure he is in this moment. He's wondering if I'd rather be in District Two with Gale, where the action is. But that's not what I want.

"No, I'm not tired of this life," I force out. I sigh heavily before continuing. "When I was out hunting this morning, the stillness of the woods was too much to handle. There are certain sounds that I miss, and their absence is more noticeable when it's so quiet."

I can see Peeta contemplating before he responds. "Well, we'll just have to start talking more," he says, as if it's as easy as making the pie that's currently baking in the oven. "I mean it," he continues more earnestly. "Last night was great. I think we should start talking more instead of pouring over the book in silence."

"Maybe," I hedge. But I know he's right. I can't be mute forever.

"That means you'll have to say something, Katniss," Peeta encourages with a smirk in my direction.

"Yeah, yeah. That's easy for Mr. Conversation to say."

"Do you think it was easy for me to talk about my family yesterday?" he asks, and the smirk has faded.

"No, of course not," I say, trying to back peddle. "You've just always been better with words than me." I know it's a stupid excuse, but Peeta makes everything look so easy. It's hard for me to contemplate him feeling as pessimistic as I do.

"So, then tonight it's your turn. I'll give you a chance to practice your speaking."

I open my mouth to respond to his snide comment, when the timer cuts me off. I exhale audibly, and pull the pie from the oven. We grab drinks and set the table while it cools for a few minutes.

It's quiet again while we eat, and it drives me crazy. I'm mad at Peeta for being so sensitive, and I'm mad at myself for driving this nail between us.

"I'm sorry, Peeta," I start, partly because I need the noise, and also because I feel bad for ignoring Peeta's emotions. "Just because you're more open than me doesn't mean that it's any easier for you. I'll try and remember."

"It's okay. It's not your fault that I get moody sometimes." He gives me a half smile before taking another bite.

We both take one more bite and then it's time for me to break the silence again.

"So, what were you sketching earlier?" I ask with a nod in the direction of the living room.

"Ideas for the bakery," he says. "I hated the color it used to be. It would've been a nice green but for all the coal dust that settled on it."

"Well, with the mines closed that color may work again," I suggest.

"Do you really think the mines will stay closed?" he asks in a dry tone.

"Why wouldn't they?"

"The country's been using coal for energy for years. If we don't mine the coal, what are we going to use?"

"I guess I hadn't thought about it," I murmur. Once again, I'm struck at yet another thing I've ignored. But it makes complete sense. "So, what color have you thought about instead?"

"Maybe gray or navy blue," he says and shrugs his shoulders. "What?" he asks when he sees my grimace.

"Those are kind of boring," I reply. "If you could paint it any color you want, what would you use?" I'm pretty sure I already know the answer, but I'm still curious to see if he'll admit it.

"Orange," he says after a long pause.

"Then that's what you should do," I state simply.

"That's not very practical." He stands and starts to wash his empty plate. I finish my last bite and join him at the sink.

"Who cares? I say take advantage of the dust free air, and liven up the town a little." I'm surprised by my flippant attitude, but I don't like to see Peeta down like this. Maybe just the thought of an orange building will liven him up.

"We'll see," he says, and smiles slightly before walking to the couch. I join him on the opposite end, with my back against the armrest. "Alright, it's your turn," he states.

"My turn?" I ask, my eyes going wide. "My turn for what?" I ask again when he nods his head.

"I talked about my family last night, so tonight is your turn."

I look away from his eager face, but the silence is getting to me again. "I don't know what to say," I confess, trying to beat around the bush.

"What about your mom?" he asks. "You never talk about her."

There's a reason I avoid that subject. "I don't usually like to talk about her," I respond.

"You don't have any good memories of her?" he suggests. I pause for a moment because there is one thing that stands out to me.

"She used to braid my hair."

"Like the two braids when you were a kid?" he asks, remembering my trademark as a child.

"Yeah, she would do one sometimes too. She would have me sit in front of her, and she'd brush my hair to get all the tangles out. Then before she'd braid it, she would run her fingers through it and scratch my scalp. I know it sounds silly, but it was so relaxing. I'd doze off half of the time. She never did it after my dad died." I pause, and take a deep breath. "That's when I started doing it for Prim. I felt bad that she had to lose that too. I miss being able to let go and unwind."

"You've been taking care of yourself and so many others for too long."

"What other choice did I have?" I retort. I didn't have any other options. It was either shoulder the responsibility or starve. Peeta opens his mouth to say something, but he hesitates, closes it, and looks away.

"Turn around," he says suddenly. I'm a little leery, so I don't comply right away. "Just turn around, please," he presses. I follow orders this time. "Scoot back," he adds. I move about six inches. "Just come sit in front of me," he insists.

I move all the way over to him, knowing now what his plan is. My shoulders are tense when I feel Peeta pull the band from my hair. I'm still uncomfortable as his fingers start threading through my hair and pulling it out of its braid. When it's all hanging loose he starts at the top and drags his hands down over my hair, and his fingers brush against my back when he gets to the end. I can sense my body trying to relax, but I fight it, until I feel Peeta's fingers on my neck underneath my hair. He presses in slightly, and massages up my scalp. I let my eyes close, and lose myself in the moment. Goose bumps pop up along my arms and legs. He withdraws from under my hair and starts picking up small pieces to let slide in between his fingers. My limbs turn to jelly, and I start sinking further into the couch. My last thought is of how this is one more task that Peeta's hands are adept at. I think it's my favorite.

"Katniss…"

I can hear someone calling my name, as is if I were in a dream. I turn to my side, and try to grab the pillow to block out the noise somehow. Instead of a pillow though, my hand and face are met with someone's chest.

"Oh!" I exclaim, as I bolt up into a sitting position. I look back to see Peeta pulling his right leg out from underneath him and shaking it. "Did I fall asleep?" I ask, trying to remember what happened earlier.

"Um, yeah. But it's okay," he replies. And then it suddenly rushes back into my conscious mind as to why I fell asleep in the first place. I touch my hair that's still hanging free around my shoulders. "I don't know how to braid," he starts. "Otherwise I would have put it back."

"Its fine," I reassure him. I feel awkward now for falling asleep on Peeta and quite possibly putting his leg to sleep forever. "How long was I asleep?"

"Only about an hour," he says. We sit quietly for a few moments while he still shakes his leg trying to wake it up.

He finally stands to test it out, and I follow him over to the door.

"Goodnight, Katniss," he says, turning back and looking at me thoughtfully.

"Goodnight, Peeta," I reply. "And thanks," I add just before he steps over the threshold. He replies with a smile before limping down the stairs and over toward his house.

I make my way up to my room once I'm finished locking up, feeling sleepy even after my hour nap. I wash my face, brush my teeth, and climb in bed. All with my hair dangling still from my head. It fans out over my pillow, and I try to drag my fingers through it like Peeta did. It doesn't feel the same when I do it. I don't get any goose bumps.

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><p><strong>AN: I'm so sorry again for the longer than usual wait. My daughter's 2nd birthday was last week, and we were pretty busy with all that hoopla. And my husband's is today! He's such an oldie at 26. lol **

**And for a little shameless plugging. I just recently wrote an entry for dirtycheekymonkeys Squeeze My Lemon. It's called Into the Woods, and it is very M rated; you've been warned. I'd love to hear what you think about it, and this chapter too. Thanks for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thanks go again to my Beta You May Call Me Goddess - Bitch Goddess for getting this back to me so quickly And a huge thanks to all my readers! I love getting emails about someone new who has added me or the story to their alerts/favorites. **

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games and all its characters are property of the fabulous Suzanne Collins, but my new iPhone 4S is mine! All mine!**

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><p><em>Dear Katniss,<em>

_I was so happy to get your letter. I understand why you didn't write sooner. Letters seem so trivial when you look at the big picture. But sometimes, I think it's the little things in life that are the most sacred. Finn is great. He doesn't walk yet, but he has taken to the water much like his daddy did. We have a house on the beach. We spend time in the water almost everyday. It's very calming there. Almost like Finnick is still holding my hand. There are times when I look at little Finn and I miss Finnick so much I can't breath. I am grateful that I have Finn. I wish I could have both of them. I have this dream sometimes that scares me. In my dream,__ I'm given the chance to choose which one I want to keep because I can only have one of them. I always wake up before I decide, but what frightens me the most is how long I take trying to pick. I wish I could tell you that I'd choose my baby, but I'm not so sure. I hope you don't think poorly of me. Give Peeta my best._

_Your friend,_

_Annie Odair_

I fold Annie's letter up and put it back on my nightstand. I received it yesterday, about a week after I sent mine, and I've read it so many times that I nearly have it memorized. I sit down on the bed to finish getting dressed and put my boots on. I want to write back to her, but I have no idea what I would say. I could tell her some of my nightmares, although I don't think any of mine compare with the agony of what she described to me. Our recent correspondence has given me the idea to write more letters. Letters are far easier than phone calls, and I've recently found myself wishing I knew how Johanna, Beetee, and even Gale are doing. It also doesn't seem right to get all my information second hand from Peeta. I leave the house to start for the woods, telling myself I'll write letters later today.

It's rained the past two days, which made hunting that much more difficult, so I'm itching to take advantage of the clear skies. I'm also hoping to use the respite from the rain to put some of my seedlings in the ground. I was going to till the ground before it rained, but I wasn't looking forward to working with a giant mud pit. So I spent yesterday inside, emptying the entire kitchen (cabinets and fridge included), cleaning it from top to bottom, and reorganizing it. The day before, I moved the furniture in my bedroom to clean under, around, and behind everything; then I put it all back, in a new layout. Unfortunately, I spent a large part of the day sitting on the couch staring at nothing before Peeta came over. Rainy days are not my friends.

I was apprehensive about seeing Peeta the day after I had fallen asleep while he had been playing (? Can't think of another word) with my hair. It was by far the most intimate contact we'd had in over a year, and all he did was touch my hair. I wanted to lie to myself and claim I hadn't enjoyed it, but I did. I only remember about five minutes of it before I fell unconscious, but they were some of the best five minutes I've had in a long while. Falling asleep that easily was amazing too, as it usually takes a good half hour, sometimes longer, before I manage to drift off.

I should have known better than to be nervous when it comes to Peeta. He came over like he normally does, a little bit later than usual, but our time together still followed the same pattern as any other day. We talked about the bakery; Peeta brought over some of the plans Thom had quickly pulled together, and he was much more enthusiastic about the orange color. We made dinner and ate together, then ended up on the couch talking again. I made him go next.

He told me about the pranks he and his brothers would pull on each other, and occasionally on their parents. He actually had me grinning when recounting some stories, but others didn't have such lighthearted outcomes. He didn't offer to do anything to my hair that night, and I don't think I would have taken him up on it if he had. Our lives are already so interconnected, and over the last couple of weeks, we've grown even closer. I'm not sure how I feel about our companionship turning into a full-fledged friendship. At times, it's a comfort, but it can also turn into a nuisance.

When I enter the cover of the trees, I push away those thoughts to focus on the task at hand. I head toward the pond, hoping to do some fishing. I had managed to freeze quite a bit before it got too cold out, but my supply ran out around December. I've liked fish a lot more recently because Peeta let's me have the stale bread to make breadcrumbs out of, and I coat the fillets before baking or frying them. We could never spare bread before so the fish wasn't nearly as tasty. I set a few lines and sit down to do some bow maintenance and make a few arrows. Most of the time I can use my arrows for multiple shots, but every so often I have to replace them.

The silence still frustrates me, so I've taken to thinking aloud. A lot of the time, I end up talking to Prim. If anyone were to come upon me, they'd probably take me straight to a doctor.

"You know, it was so much easier to make these when you would help me with this," I tell her. "Your fingers are smaller and better at attaching the feathers." It may seem odd, but when I'm out here in the woods talking to her, it feels like she's right next to me. I wish I had brought her out here more often. Gale grew to be a great friend and confidant, but Prim was my sister. Most of the time, I tried to shelter her from the harsh realities we were living in, but she saw through that. Every so often I'd let down my guard and she'd comfort me. For someone so young she was incredibly wise.

"I'm going to be planting some of the seeds I started a few weeks ago today. I'm going to start with the peas, broccoli, and carrots. Greasy Sae says those do best if you plant them early. Then some time next month, I'm going to put the rest in the ground. I hope you'll like the garden. I'm sure it won't look as nice as if you were doing it, but I'll try my best."

I take a moment to eye the arrow I've been working on to make sure it's straight. I was really lucky to get that turkey back in the autumn because I've been able to use most of the feathers I plucked from it for fletching.

"I think I'm going to make Peeta help me with these tonight. If he can draw and paint so well, I'm sure he can help fletch an arrow."

I spend a few more hours working on my arrow shafts, and manage to reel in just enough fish for dinner tonight. I check my traps, and head home with a rabbit in addition.

I make sure to stop in the town square on purpose today. Peeta said that Thom would be starting construction today. I see Peeta and Thom standing at a table, poring over some papers. There's a few other men around, digging trenches and filling them with a gray mush. Peeta looks up when he sees me from the corner of his eye.

"Hey, Katniss. Catch anything good?" he asks.

"Just some dinner," I tell him holding up the dangling fish. "I though the building was starting today."

"It is," Thom begins. "We have to prep the site first. The guys are pouring concrete into those trenches for stability and that's what the floor of the building will be sitting on. The concrete is going to take a couple weeks to cure and set completely, so it won't really start to look like a building for a little bit longer," he explains further. "But that'll give us plenty of time to get the plumbing and electrical worked out underneath."

"Wow, Thom, you really know your stuff," I say, amazed at the amount of knowledge he's picked up in the past year.

"Yeah, well I used to do minor repairs around the Seam before, and after the war they sent out a big contractor that taught me a lot more."

"And I'm glad he did," Peeta interjects. "I much prefer working with you, Thom, than someone from the Capitol."

We all nod in agreement, and Thom starts rolling up the plans he and Peeta had been looking at.

"Well, Peeta, the guys will be finishing up for the day soon. I've got a crew that's going to start working on cutting the lumber tomorrow and a plumber coming to take a look at the floor plans, so we can finish going over the rest of this the day after. If that's ok with you."

"Sure, no problem," Peeta replies. "Thanks, Thom," he says and reaches out to shake his hand.

"My, pleasure," Thom says and returns the gesture. "Good to see you again, Katniss."

"You too, Thom," I say, and Peeta and I turn toward our houses.

"What's in the quiver?" he asks after a minute. It's easier to handle the silences after talking to Prim in the woods.

"They're shafts for new arrows," I explain. "I'm going to attach feathers later tonight if you'd like to help."

"Of course," he responds. "You've got me all interested. Why don't we start now?"

"Because I've got planting to do, Peeta," I remind him.

"Right. I forgot. Do you need help?"

"Sure. It'll be much easier with two sets of hands."

We head to my back yard and grab shovels to start getting rid of the grass. We work in the rectangle I made previously, and once the grass is up, we dig down about twelve inches and start a separate pile for the dirt we've dug out.

"Why are we digging down so deep?" Peeta asks when we've finished.

"Greasy Sae gave me some sand and manure to mix in with the soil."

"So that's what that smell is!" he exclaims and wrinkles up his nose.

I roll my eyes and start pouring the bucket of sand into our ditch. Peeta willingly grabs the manure, and when they're both in there, we start adding back most of the soil we dug out and mix the three together slightly. We measure and make rows to start transplanting the seedlings. Once they're all in, I take a big watering can to them.

When I notice how dirty Peeta is I look down at myself to see the same amount of earth covering my clothes and hands.

"We should probably get cleaned up," I mention, and Peeta looks down at his soiled clothes. "Sorry, I didn't think we'd get this dirty."

"It's fine. But I do think I'm going to run home and shower. I can smell some of that manure on me," he says in mock disgust.

"Well, just make sure you take your shoes off before you go inside," I warn him as he starts to walk away.

"Thanks," he calls over his shoulder, and I remove my own shoes before stepping through the back door. I head upstairs to shower also, and actually leave my hair down tying back a few strands from my face since I'll be spending the rest of the day inside.

I skip my regular indoor chores today, and start cleaning the fish I caught earlier. Then I take the time to gather together supplies for finishing the arrows. Peeta shows up just as I finish preparing the sinew for securing the fletching.

"What is that?" he asks, looking over my shoulder. He's close enough for me to smell the soap he's used, but he also still smells like dough. I wonder if the whole house smells like that, and if it's embedded in his clothes.

"It's animal tendons. It's what we're going to use to tie the feathers to my arrows," I tell him.

"Gross," he says with a grimace.

"Oh, yeah? I guess you don't want to help me seal the shafts with animal fat then?"

"First manure, and now you've got me working with animal bits," he says and shakes his head. "The things I'll do for you…" he mumbles, and I'm not sure if I was meant to hear that.

We get right to work then, splitting the feathers and attaching them right to the wood. And I was right earlier; Peeta is good at helping me. Between the two of us we finish the work so quickly there's still time before we need to start dinner. We clean up, and Peeta sits on the couch while I run upstairs for Annie's letter.

"I got a letter from Annie yesterday," I say walking back down.

"Really? How's she doing? I haven't heard from her in almost a month."

I hand him the letter in response to let him read it. He exhales loudly when he's finished, and leans back into the cushion.

"Yeah," I say sitting down. "And I thought I had it bad."

"No kidding," Peeta says, agreeing. I know that Peeta gets concerned for Annie, having been through the Capitol's torture together. I'm sure he doesn't like to hear that she's struggling too.

"It's hard enough to take care of myself. I can't imagine having a baby on top of everything." I don't mention the fact that her mental state probably doesn't help matters, not wanting to be rude. Although, ever since she and Finnick were married, she's steadily become more focused and less edgy.

"Do you ever think of that?" Peeta suddenly asks.

"About what? Having a baby?" I inquire incredulously.

"Yeah."

"No," I state firmly, hoping to end the path this conversation has veered on to. From an early age I was never one of those girls who enjoyed playing with dolls; pretending to feed them, wash them, or rock them to sleep was not an activity I wished to participate in. When I fully understood the harsh realities of the world I was living in, I was more than grateful that the mothering gene seemed to have skipped me. "Why? Do you think about that?" I ask, curious now as to why he would ask me.

"I used to, when I was younger," he admits. "Doesn't every kid grow up wanting to be like their parents and get married and have a family?"

"No," I state again. I don't elaborate and Peeta doesn't pry.

Instead, I go to the kitchen to start cooking. Peeta follows, and we get to down to business. We sit down about thirty minutes later with plates of fish, rice, and some canned Capitol beans.

"This is really good, Katniss," Peeta comments a few minutes later around a mouthful of fish.

"Thanks," I reply sheepishly. I finish up the last few bites, thinking that it did turn out pretty nice.

When we're both finished we start washing dishes and putting the kitchen back in order. We make our way to the couch after cleaning up for our nightly tête-à-tête.

"Alright, what's your favorite thing to eat?" Peeta asks me. The question takes me by surprise in its simplicity. We usually talk about things of more significance and my favorite food seems so minor. "And don't tell me that lamb stew from the Capitol. What's something you look forward to, and get excited about?"

I'm about to tell him that after nearly starving to death I look forward to and get excited about anything edible, but that wasn't always the case in my life.

"My dad used to make a treat for Prim and me when we were kids in the summer. There were a lot of factors that determined whether he could make it or not, so I only remember having it a handful of times." I look away from Peeta, and stare into the empty fireplace, reminiscing. "It had to be earlier in the summer in order to have enough strawberries. We had to have sugar, which we couldn't always afford. And the electricity had to be on for at least two hours. Anyway, my mom would clean and chop up the strawberries into a bowl. Then she'd sprinkle sugar on them and stir it in. We'd let that sit for a few minutes and the sugar would help the strawberries produce some juice. Then we'd mash up the strawberries as best as we could add a little bit of milk and pour them into cups to freeze them in. My dad would make sticks to put in the middle. If the electricity was on long enough the strawberries would freeze around the stick and we could pull it out of the cup and eat it like that. Otherwise, they'd just turn into strawberry slush and we'd eat it with a spoon. It was still good like that, but not as fun to eat. They were always great to have on a hot summer day."

"That sounds awesome," Peeta says when I finish explaining. "We didn't get a lot of fruit to eat," he tells me.

"Really?"

"Well, yeah. Most of the time we had fruit we had to use it for fillings for pies and pastries."

It always surprises me whenever I'm reminded that living in town didn't always mean living well. When they were in season, we'd always have a few extra apples, strawberries, blackberries, grapes, and any other fruit we could find in the woods after trading.

"Is that what you'd always look forward to?" I ask him, curious about his own favorite.

"No. Actually, my mom used to make this fried sweet bread for breakfast. We didn't get it often because a lot of the ingredients were used for baking."

"Well, how do you make it?"

"It's kind of funny, really, because it's best to use with slightly stale bread, and that we always had plenty of. Anyway, first, you mix a few eggs and some milk and little bit of sugar and vanilla; then you dip the bread in the mix, coating both sides, and fry it in a skillet with some melted butter for a few minutes on each side. We used to sprinkle some powdered sugar on it and eat it with syrup."

I can practically see the drool at the corners of Peeta's mouth.

"Where'd you get syrup from?" I ask, knowing exactly who used to sneak into the woods to harvest it.

"We used to trade with Jude, but it wasn't often. Eggs, milk, powdered sugar, butter were all things we used everyday for baking, and my mom was pretty stingy with our supplies. She'd only make it for birthdays and reaping days as long as our supplies could allow it."

"It sounds good, but I'm having a hard time picturing it."

"I wish I could make it for you, but it wouldn't be the same without syrup," Peeta says, his voice trailing off.

"You mean Jude didn't…" I start to say, but the look on Peeta's face tells me I don't need to continue. I've never taken the time to make an inventory in my mind of who's still alive. And who's going to make maple syrup now that Jude's dead?

We both sit in silence for a few minutes, lost in our own grief. Adjusting to this new world is not an easy feat.

"Your hair looks really nice like that," Peeta says suddenly, pulling me from my reverie. I reach up to touch little strands. "I mean I like the braid, but I think I prefer it down around your shoulders and just pulled back from your face like this."

"Yeah, well it's not very practical to have my hair getting in the way while I hunt, cook, and clean," I huff.

"I wonder if you'll ever learn how to receive a compliment?" he muses, shaking his head.

"What?" I ask defensively.

"Just say 'thank you', Katniss."

"No." I turn away from him to plant my feet on the floor, and cross my arms across my chest. I tense slightly when I see Peeta move to the middle of the couch and closer to me.

"Will you teach me how to braid?" he whispers. And all of a sudden, I feel my body start to unfold in his direction. It's not something I can easily describe. I want to fight against it, this pull to move toward him.

It's not exactly something new either. It's a response to him that I've noticed over the course of the past month. I've been able to ignore it for a while, but this connection has grown stronger. The intensity of it increases everyday. My solitude and my silence aren't a comfort that I seek out anymore. Instead, I find my peace in Peeta's presence now.

Peeta tugs on my left arm, and it falls to my side willingly. He runs his fingertips from my shoulder down to my hand and then picks it up in between his own. He places it palm up in his left hand and traces the lines there with his right hand. I look at our hands for a moment, and then raise my eyes to his face. He looks at peace too.

Slowly, he raises my hand to his face and presses it to his cheek. His hand is warm against the back of mine. I can feel the smallest amount of stubble breaking through his skin's surface. He sighs and closes his eyes before turning his nose into my hand and inhaling deeply. Involuntarily, my body has turned sideways again towards him. He turns his hand again and his lips brush across my palm, pressing slightly into it. Our hands lower to his chest and he holds them against it. I can feel the steady thrum of his heart.

"Maybe you can teach me some other time," he murmurs and releases my hand as he opens his eyes and stands up. My body acts of its own accord again and I find myself leaning forward to be closer to him.

"Goodnight, Katniss," he says and runs his hand from the top of my head down over my hair. I still have goose bumps on my arms and legs when the front door closes.

I skip my evening routine and climb into bed fully clothed and completely terrified.

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><p><strong>AN: How about this? An update in just over a week! I hope you enjoyed it! And I hope chapter seven isn't too far behind. I'm sure you do too. ;)**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I know it's been forever. I could give you a million excuses, but I know you really just want to get to the chapter. I think you'll like it. ;) Longer AN at the bottom...see you there.**

**Thanks to You May Call Me Goddess-Bitch Goddess for being my beta!**

**Suzanne Collins owns The Hunger Games, not me. :'(**

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><p>"So, I finally convinced him, Prim," I tell the trees, as I sit at the pond's edge basking in the warmth of the sun. "Peeta's decided to paint the bakery orange. It's a really pretty orange, actually. And the trim is going to be a light green. I know it sounds crazy, but I swear they look great together." I sit forward and pull off my hunting jacket, and then lean back against the tree. We're in the middle of April now and the last few days have gotten considerably warmer. It's actually starting to look and feel like spring. "They've been working on it for a month now, and they started painting the outside yesterday. Peeta's been working on the inside, getting everything organized." I pause for a moment, thinking of Peeta and the amount of time we've been spending together.<p>

Two months ago, I would have shied away from spending any more time with Peeta than I already did. I would have cringed to think that we'd be speaking to each other so much and sharing so much more of ourselves then ever before. And now…well, now there are times where I actually miss Peeta. When I wake up in the middle of the night and I can't get back to sleep, I find myself wishing he were there to talk to. He's started coming by to eat breakfast with me nearly every morning, and when he's not there before I leave to hunt I'm usually pretty gloomy when I head out. I enjoy our time together so much that it frustrates me when I find myself craving his company, because I don't want to be so dependent on someone else.

"I should probably get back," I say aloud and stand up. I throw my game bag and jacket over one shoulder and my bow and quiver over the other. "I'm planting round two in the garden today. It rained for three days straight last week. I was afraid my first group was going to drown, but they persevered and now they're looking better than ever. Although, weeds have started popping up, so I have to keep pulling them. I wish you could be here to eat some of the first fruits of my labor. But don't worry; I'll keep you up to date on how well they turn out." I stop talking again the moment I leave the woods.

This morning was one of the days Peeta didn't stop by for breakfast, so I head toward the bakery, expecting him to be hard at work. A bell rings when I step through the door, alerting me to its new addition since yesterday. I walk past the new counter top with an empty glass display case and a large chalkboard resting against the wall just waiting to be written on and hung up. I don't see Peeta back in the kitchen, so I head up the stairs to his large studio space.

It's a beautiful room with so much natural light from the extra windows Peeta made Thom add. He's got a few of them open, letting in the fresh spring air. It's been empty up until now, and I gasp when I see that he's moved his easel and all of his painting supplies here. In the front corner opposite the stairs are a couple of large comfy looking chairs with a small round table in between them. There's a big desk in one of the back corners of the building already covered in ledgers and papers concerning supply orders and the cost of running a business. Peeta's sitting on a stool in the middle of the room behind a canvas.

"Hey," he says, peeking around his work.

"Hey," I say back to him, and plop down in one of the armchairs. I was right; they're comfy.

"Sorry I didn't stay for breakfast this morning. I woke up early and couldn't get back to sleep, so I came here after I finished baking. Did you find the muffins I left?"

"Yeah, thanks," I say, but I don't tell him how I ate three of them before leaving the house. "When did you move all this in here?" I ask gesturing to the large area.

"Yesterday afternoon. My bedroom is a lot less cluttered with all of this here now," he says pointing to the corner opposite his desk. I walk over and look at the big table covered in sketches, and a tall cabinet next to it. There are also two wooden drying racks, one vertical and the other horizontal, holding canvases of various sizes. I don't look at the pictures long because many of them depict our time in the Games.

I turn away from the depressing images, and immediately take a punch in the gut at the image before me. It's a picture of what I'm assuming is Prim and me laughing together. I've got a basket of apples in my arms and Prim's got one in her hand with a bite taken out of it. Amazingly, Peeta's actually managed to make us both look innocent even though our features are so dissimilar.

"I'm sorry," Peeta says upon seeing my pained expression. "I think this was a memory from before the Games. I had to preserve it somehow."

"It's fine," I whisper, staring at her face still. "You're too good, Peeta. She looks so real."

He takes it down suddenly just as my hand begins to reach out to her. He slides it onto one of the racks, out of sight. I shake myself out of a daze. I can feel Peeta staring at me, waiting for me to freak out. I'm actually waiting for it too, but that overwhelming feeling of loss doesn't pull me under the same way it used to. I still miss her like crazy, but it's nice to see her like that, to see a smile on her face and a light in her eyes.

"Thank you, for that," I say, meeting Peeta's worried eyes. "I have a hard time pulling up pleasant memories. It's nice to have one back that I thought I'd lost." I walk back over to the stairs to grab my stuff. "I need to go check on my plants. I'll see you later," I tell him before heading down the stairs. It wasn't completely destructive seeing Prim looking so perfect, but I definitely had as much as I can handle for the moment.

I don't understand how Peeta can bear to see their faces everyday. He paints or sketches pictures of all of them. His family, Rue, and Mags, Thresh, and Portia. It's horror enough to see them any time I close my eyes, I don't want them staring back at me when I open them.

I walk home quickly, deposit my stuff inside, and go out the back door to tend to my garden. I pull weeds and loosen up the soil to get it ready for my other seedlings.

"When can I expect to be forced to eat some of this rabbit food?" Haymitch asks, walking over to the plants I've just finished watering.

"I honestly don't know. Maybe another month? Probably more for some of the others," I tell him, and make a note to ask Greasy Sae when I should be expecting to harvest my plants.

"Hazelle assumed you wouldn't need the reminder, but I know you better," he states cryptically.

"Reminder about what?"

"Do you know what the date is, sweetheart?"

"Um, sometime in April?"

"Keep thinking," he says on a chuckle and shakes his head before turning to walk away. And then it hits me; April fifteenth.

"Wait! It's his birthday?" I manage to squeak out.

"Now you got it," he calls out over his shoulder before disappearing around the corner of the house next door.

I stand there momentarily stunned. I'm actually not surprised that I've forgotten Peeta's birthday; it's pretty typical of me. But now that I know, I have to do something. I move through the backyard, slowly putting away my tools and watering can. Back inside, I walk around the living room hoping that something will catch my eye and give me an idea. But because I feel so awful for not remembering the significance of today's date, I want whatever I do for Peeta to be special. I don't want to just get him something expected like painting supplies, and I don't have the time to send for anything or to make something…and then inspiration strikes as I walk through the kitchen trying to get clues. There's a loaf of bread leftover from our dinner the night before, and I know I have plenty of eggs, milk, and butter. I get a sinking feeling though when I think about the maple syrup that I may not be able to procure. I quickly leave the house hoping that Peeta is still working at the bakery.

"Katniss!" Hazelle says in greeting. "How are you today?" She steps aside and ushers me in, but I hesitate on the porch.

"Is Peeta here?" I ask, my eyes shifting from side to side and looking frantically at the stairs.

"No. He hasn't made his way back from the bakery yet." She responds and I relax slightly. "Most days he's out until after dinner."

"Oh," I say, stepping inside and thinking again about the large amount of time Peeta spends at my house. "Well, good. Anyway, I was coming to see if you guys have any powdered sugar I can use?"

"Yes, of course," Hazelle says with a confused expression. I follow her into the kitchen and stand silently while she grabs a small container. "Here, take the whole thing, and just bring it back when you're done," she tells me and hands it over.

"Thanks. Um, you don't by any chance know where I can find some maple syrup do you?"

"Maple syrup?" she asks, her voice colored with bewilderment. "I don't know if anyone makes that anymore. Sae might know."

"Great, I'll ask her. And thanks for the sugar," I add before dashing out the front door and down the steps. I don't stop at my house to drop off the sugar but instead head straight to Greasy Sae's.

"Katniss," she says in greeting. "It's been a few days. How're them plants coming along?"

"They're great, just great," I spit out quickly. "Listen does anyone make maple syrup anymore?"

"Well, sure. Ben takes care of that now. His sons have been helping quite a bit too."

"Of course!" I exclaim, having completely forgotten that Ben used to help Jude occasionally, and would know exactly how to make the syrup. "Do you know if he has any? I don't need much."

"Well, here, honey. I just got this from him for mending some of his boy's clothes," she says handing over a miniature jug full of the sweet amber liquid.

"Thank you so much, Sae. I'll bring you back a couple of rabbits," I promise before rushing off without any further chitchat.

Moments later, I'm standing in my kitchen staring at all of the supplies I've gathered completely dumbfounded.

"Ok, I can do this," I tell myself.

I grab a shallow bowl and start cracking eggs into it. It was nearly a month ago that Peeta told me how to make this, but I'm pretty sure milk and sugar went into it also. I whisk them all together, and start heating some butter in a pan. I slice the bread while I wait for the butter to melt. When everything's ready, I grab a piece of bread to dip in the egg mixture, but hesitate not wanting to mess up. I only let myself pause for a moment, and then I plunge the bread into the bowl. I flip it over quickly not really sure how long to let it soak up the liquid, and then throw it in the pan where it immediately starts to make a sizzling noise. I look at the clock to start timing, and it's torture just to wait the few minutes before I can flip it over. When I do finally get to slide my spatula under the bread I flip it quickly, and it hisses some more on impact. The first side doesn't look too terrible. There are some spots that are browner than others, but it looks edible. However, edible for me may not be the same as Peeta's expectations. After the three minutes are up for the second side, I slide it onto a plate and grab another piece of bread to start the whole process over again.

I feel a little more competent in my skills after I finish cooking the second slice, so I attempt to do two at time. My experiment is a success and they finish within a minute of each other.

Another twenty minutes go by, and I've got a plate stacked high with the bread when I hear the front door open.

"Katniss?" Peeta calls out.

"I'm in the kitchen," I squeak, and my eyes are wide when he enters.

"What are you doing?" he asks, looking from me to the plate in one hand, the spatula in the other, and the pan on the stove with two more pieces of bread in it.

"Um…making that fried bread you like?" I tell him, but it comes out sounding much more like a question than an actual reply. 'Uh…happy birthday," I say, forcing my voice to sound slightly more cheerful. His face breaks into a grin and he inhales deeply.

"This is amazing!" he exclaims, and walks over to the counter where the powdered sugar and syrup are waiting for the bread. "Where did you get all of this?"

"Well, I borrowed the sugar from your house, and Sae gave me the syrup. I already had the bread and the other stuff…" I trail off, still uncertain about what I've managed to put together. I set the plate down on the counter and flip over the slices still cooking. I look back to Peeta to see him staring at me with a small smile on his face. His expression is a little too wistful for my taste, and I have to look away after a moment.

"You did all this for my birthday?"

"Well, yeah." I contemplate letting him assume I've had this planned for weeks, but I don't feel right giving him the wrong impression. "But Haymitch had to remind me of the date. I'm so sorry, Peeta. I didn't mean to forget—"

"It's okay," he says, holding up his hand to stop me. "I understand. And this is so much more than I ever could've imagined. Thank you."

"You're welcome," I tell him. "But I still don't think you should be so understanding," I insist. "I'm an awful, horrible person for getting so wrapped up in myself again that I completely neglected you."

"No, Katniss. You are far from horrible. An awful person would have forgotten and not cared about finding a gift or making a special meal." He takes a few steps closer, but stops less than two feet from me. "And you haven't neglected me. In fact, I'd say recently you've spent more time with me than on your own," he finishes. He's not smiling anymore and his gaze is intense, keeping my eyes locked on his. My mouth opens repeatedly while I try to think of something to say. "Shall we?" he suggests, nodding to the plate on the counter.

"Here," I say, suddenly free of the spell his blue eyes had put me under. I grab a new plate and put the two slices of bread hot from the pan onto it. He takes it over to the table while I grab a plate for myself. I make two glasses of milk and put them by our plates, and Peeta places the sugar and syrup in the middle of the small table. "So, you just sprinkle the sugar on top of the bread?" I ask him.

"Yep," he replies and uses the spoon in the container to get the white powder. He then pours syrup over the entire plate, and I mimic his actions. I grab his hand before he reaches for the fork.

"Happy birthday, Peeta. I hope this tastes okay."

"It makes no difference. This will still be my best birthday ever," he admits, and then digs in. I join him in cutting up my bread into smaller bites. My first bite is a perfect combination of bread, powder, and syrup, and Peeta's right, it's delicious. The bread is slightly crisp on the outside, and then soft and fluffy on the inside. I had thought before that the sugar and syrup together would be too sweet, but they're perfectly complimentary. I take a big gulp of milk after a second bite, and it accompanies the food just as flawlessly. "What did I tell you?" Peeta asks after I finish the first piece of bread.

"It's awesome," I concede.

"And you were worried it wasn't going to taste good," he teases. I chuckle lightly, and we continue to eat in silence for a few more minutes. Peeta finishes first and grabs two more slices of bread. "What? It's good, and it's my birthday. I'll eat as much as I want," he says defensively when he sees my raised eyebrows. I just grin in response, glad that Peeta's pleased.

I start cleaning up and doing the dishes while Peeta finishes eating.

"No way," I declare when he comes to join me. "No dish duty on your birthday," I tell him and grab his dirty plate and glass. "Sit back down," I order, and he complies, grinning like a fool. Not many dishes were used, so it doesn't take too long, even on my own, and after a few minutes, we go to sit on the couch. I want to keep the mood light-hearted, so we talk about what's left to finish up the bakery, and we make plans for the warmer weather that's started to invade.

"I want to take you into the woods," I blurt out suddenly. I take myself by surprise actually, because I hadn't really given it that much thought yet.

"Like go hunting with you?" he asks.

"I don't know how much hunting I'd get done with you scaring off half the animals," I state with a grimace.

"Hey! No insulting the birthday boy!"

"I was just thinking maybe we could spend the afternoon out there. I mean once the bakery opens you won't have as much free time to spend here, so I don't know…I just—"

"Are you saying you're going to miss me, Katniss?" he questions me, his smile spreading from ear to ear.

"No!" I exclaim quickly. "I mean…so what if I will miss you? Although, now that you're making fun of me I take it all back."

"Oh, no, you don't," he says, moving from his side of the couch to the middle, and closer to me. "I'll miss spending time with you too," he confesses. I pull my knees up to my chest and grip them tightly when I see the look in his eyes. "Of course," he starts, and grins breaking the tension. "If you decided to work with me, we'd see each other all the time still."

"You just built the place, Peeta. I'm sure you don't want me to burn it down."

"What are you talking about? You're a great cook."

"But I don't bake. I'd probably catch the bread on fire or something," I admit.

"I'll get you to make a loaf someday," he promises.

Our banter continues for a little while longer, but when the pauses between conversations stretch out longer and longer, Peeta finally stands to go.

"Thank you, Katniss, for a great birthday," he says when we reach the door. He pulls me in for a brief hug, and doesn't linger any longer than a friend would. I don't know if he does it because he thinks I'm uncomfortable with our growing friendship or if he's just as frightened as I am, but I'm grateful for whatever reason it is.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it." I give him a small smile. I can feel my eyelids getting heavier as I lean up against the edge of the door. Peeta steps through it onto the porch and inhales deeply.

"Smells like spring," he declares. I roll my eyes slightly; it's smelled like spring for close to a month now.

"It's been spring for a few weeks now, Peeta."

"Yeah, but it's still been miserably cold until this week," he defends himself.

"Goodnight, Peeta," I say, and push against his chest. He grabs my hand and holds it against him. His shirt is far too thin, even if the weather is more favorable, but that doesn't stop his skin from radiating so much heat.

"Goodnight, Katniss," he whispers and reluctantly lets go of me, turning away and heading down the stairs.

"Happy birthday," I call out once more, while watching him walk away.

I close the door and walk around the house turning out lights before heading up to bed. When I pull the covers up around my shoulders, I smile widely, surprising myself. But I just can't help feeling pleased with the gift I made for Peeta. It was nice to see him so happy, and to know that I helped create that happiness.

"_Katniss!" _

_I hear Prim scream over and over while I battle the vines and creepers that made up the jungle from the Quarter Quell. Sweat pours down my face and back, and the hot, humid air is increasingly more difficult to pull into my burning lungs. Finally, I break through the last of the brush just as Prim's voice cuts off. The jungle has disappeared, and I fall to the floor of one of the tunnels located underneath the Capital; I'm assaulted by the sound of several more screams. I'm at a crossroads, and I can hear people screaming down the tunnels to my right and left and the one in front of me. They're calling my name, begging for mercy. I sink my head into my hands, while the howls threaten to tear me apart. But when Prim's voice rings out clear again, directly ahead of me, I sprint down the slippery tunnel. The air is still stifling even though I've left the tropics behind. I lose my footing twice on the slime covering the ground and walls. A faint orange glow appears at the end of the tunnel, making me think I'm about to enter a large chamber. I slow to a jog when I start to recognize the light for what it really is. The tunnel ends abruptly and opens into a giant pit full of flames. The roar of the fire masks the screams for a moment. I search frantically to try to locate Prim, but the heat stings my eyes. _

"_Katniss!" she screams again, and I feel like the sound is coming from inside my head it's so magnified. _

_Finally, I see her standing at the edge of another tunnel directly across from me. She's struggling against someone or something behind her, and gripping onto the edge of the walls to keep from being thrown into the flames. I can hear the other screams again over the noise of the blaze, and I look around the pit, seeing for the first time nearly a dozen tunnels all holding someone dear to me. Rue is the closest to me. She stops struggling against her captor to reach out to me, and I'm forced to watch her die all over again as the orange and red swallows her up. But I'm only given a moment to mourn for her loss before more people plummet to a fiery end. Johanna, Cinna, Haymitch, and even my mother are shoved into the inferno. Prim continues to struggle. She's the last one left, and she's losing the battle with the force behind her. _

"_Katniss, please!" she screeches. _

_I'd be sobbing if the tears didn't evaporate immediately from the heat. I look down and all around trying to find some way for me to get to her. There are ladders in between each tunnel that I can just barely reach, but when I put my hand to the metal, it singes my skin. I cry out in pain and pull back my hand that's now marred with an angry red line. But it's the only way to her, so I grit my teeth, and reach out to the ladder again. I scream in fury when I make contact again, but clench my jaw shut against the pain. I hang for a moment by hands before my feet find purchase on the bottom of the ladder. I move quickly to the next tunnel, and then onward to the ladder after it. The hot metal is burning through my skin and the soles of my shoes. The scent of my own charred flesh mingles with the bodies below me, and I retch when I reach the next tunnel. I'm only half way to Prim when her screams impossibly become even more agonized. I hurry onto the ladder, keeping my eyes locked on Prim. Her feet edge ever closer to the precipice. Time seems to slow to a snail's pace as I watch her slip on the muck under her feet. She doesn't land on her rear end like I'd expect, but is caught by her invisible executioner, and then flung helplessly into the flames like a ragdoll. My grip on the ladder's rung loosens, and I'm preparing to join her, to join them all, when his voice reaches me, clear and commanding. _

"_Katniss! Stop!" Peeta shouts. "Come here. Come to me." He reaches out to me from the next tunnel._

_I grip his hand, but before I can step off the ladder Peeta is pushed from behind and begins to tumble forward. I hook my other arm around the ladder bracing myself for Peeta's weight, but it's too much. My hand is covered in blood and sweat and there's nothing else for Peeta to grab onto. _

"_Hang on, Peeta," I tell him, trying with all the strength left in me to pull him high enough to reach the ladder. But every inch I manage to gain, his hand slips slowly out of mine. "Please, Peeta," I whimper, knowing that it's no use. I'm so tired, and I'm losing this battle. My frantic eyes meet his, and they're calm, peaceful. _

"_I love you, Katniss," he whispers._

"_I love you, Peeta," I reply just before he releases my hand and sinks into the orange sea below._

I wake tangled in a mass of sweat-soaked sheets, panting. I sit up slowly, shaking still, and scoot back against the headboard, letting my head fall back against it. It's still dark outside my window, but I don't dare try to fall back to sleep. I stare down at my hands, half expecting to see angry red welts. The dream was so real I can still feel phantom pains on my palms and the bottom of my feet. I clasp my hands together, attempting to stop the shaking, and take a few deep breaths in order to get myself back under control. But it's all in vain. The moment I picture Prim's face I'm sent back into hysterics. She sounded so close, so real. Her eyes pleading with me to save her continue to haunt me. But the memory (even if it is a fake one) of losing Peeta threatens to tear me apart. Tears begin running freely down my face, and I know there's no sense in denying it anymore. There is truth in some dreams. I do love Peeta. More than I care to admit.

I allow myself to cry until my sobs slow, and my eyes run dry. I feel exhausted, but pleasantly numb now that I've had my release. I begin my morning routine, and leave the house before Peeta can come by for breakfast and see my puffy eyes and red nose. I don't think I'm ready to see him anyway since my revelation this morning. I love him; I know this now. But I don't know what kind of love it is, or how to react to this.

"Oh, Prim," I sigh as soon as the trees envelop me. "I miss you so much. I don't know how much longer I can stand seeing you die," I tell her with a slight whimper. But I refuse to breakdown again. So I shake my head, square my shoulders, and head deeper into the woods.

I lose myself in my work. I focus on the sounds of nature surrounding me instead of the remembered cries from my many nightmares. I allow my every sense to take over, and become the predator searching for my prey. The forest floor is spongy from all the spring rain and the new growth. In my heightened state, I can smell life blooming around me. Sweat starts to build up on my forehead and lower back. Over the past few weeks, I've started leaving my jacket at home, the increasing heat negating the need for it. It's my favorite time of year to hunt. The lingering wetness from the rain amplifies the scents around me, and the loud crickets and cicadas of summer haven't taken up residence yet. The temperature never rises too high in the morning, but isn't so cool that my extremities take forever to limber up.

I stand still and stunned for a moment, watching a doe drink daintily from a small brook. I pause for a moment taking in the beauty of the situation. There's a small voice in the back of my head that wishes to move on and leave the animal alone. It makes me think of Prim. She never could stand the thought of killing animals. I shove the thought aside and let the arrow fly, feeling an immense sense of relief when it makes contact with the poor creature.

"I'm sorry, Prim," I confess to her.

My momentary high starts to recede the closer I get to town. I walk around the back of the businesses to take the deer to the butcher's, purposefully avoiding the bakery. I'm still not ready to face Peeta knowing what I do now.

I look over at the now completely orange building while I wait for the butcher to come back with my payment. I'll have to wait until tomorrow to get the cuts that he promised me. It's been strange not to be dealing with Rooba anymore, but her replacement has always been fair in my dealings with him.

While I wait, I let my mind wander, and think about the time I've spent with Peeta recently. We've both opened up and let each other in. We've shared our happiest and most depressing memories. We've told some of our darkest secrets, and our worst fears. And now I have a new fear to join the rest. Because the thought of losing Peeta again makes the air in my lungs disappear, and my chest ache. I'm so afraid to need him as much as I do. But I'm even more scared of wanting him like I do.

"Her you go, Ms. Everdeen," Safet says stepping around the counter. He refuses to call me by my first name, and I don't have the energy to contradict him today. "I'll have that meat for you tomorrow."

"Great, thanks." I take the envelope from him and fold it up into a pocket.

"No. Thank you. I don't normally get venison. This'll be a treat," he reassures me. She looked like a good animal; I'm sure it will be good meat. "Have a good day," he says as I open the door. I give him a small wave in return and slip outside. I quickly retreat behind the buildings and take the long way home.

I head straight for my garden to pull a few weeds and water some of the drier plants. Greasy Sae came over a couple weeks ago with cages and poles for some of the plants to help them stand tall. It's really looking like a proper source of food now.

When I finish I end up getting in the shower before starting my work inside. I've relegated my showers to after I hunt and work outside now that it's getting warmer and I tend to sweat more and get dirtier. I leave my hair down again with just the front tied back. I start cleaning, throwing windows open as I go and letting the warm spring breeze drift through the house.

My chores inside don't take long, like usual, so I find myself with more time than I'd like left before I should start dinner. I start doing things that don't really need to be done just to keep my mind occupied. I take an inventory of my pantry, noting anything I'm running low on. Only I already did this last week, and it's not like I go through much, even if Peeta does eat dinner here every night. I even sit down at the small kitchen table to write out a list of meals I know how to prepare with their recipes. My distractions take longer than expected, and I have to start dinner in a hurry.

"What's all that?" I ask Peeta when he comes walking in carrying three boxes in various sizes.

"They're your gifts," he explains.

"Gifts? What for?"

"Honestly, Katniss. I understand you forgetting my birthday, but really? You can't even remember your own?"

The spoon I had been stirring with slips into the soup I'm cooking.

"Cripes!" I gingerly reach into the hot liquid to retrieve the utensil. "Ugh! Ow!"

"Katniss, stop," Peeta says, rushing over with a towel and then turning on the water. I rinse my hand in the cool water while he dries the spoon in order to continue stirring.

"Is it really May eighth?" I ask, my hand still in the stream.

"I promise."

"I need a calendar or something. I can't keep forgetting what day it is." I shut the water off and pat my hand dry. It's not burned, just an angry dark pink. I stare for a moment, remembering my dream. I look up at Peeta as I recall what we told each other in it. I smile slightly, watching him take a taste of the soup. When did he become so precious to me? "So, these are for me?" I ask, trying to change the subject.

"Um, yeah," he says looking self-conscious now. "There's a huge stack of letters by the door too. The medium one is from Plutarch, the small one from Gale, and the big one is, um…mine."

"You got me a gift?"

"I had to do something after that amazing meal you made me."

"No, you didn't," I tell him, but I'm secretly excited to see what Peeta would get me. I grab his present first, and begin pulling it open. "Oh, Peeta," I exclaim softly when I see the green leaves.

"It's some herbs. Specifically ones that don't grow much here," he explains. "You can transplant them into your garden or leave them in there and keep them inside."

"How did—where did you get these?"

"Annie sent some, and Johanna, Beetee, and Cressida too. You're always cooking, and I remember you mentioned how boring it gets making the same things over and over and that you like to try new things. There's a book in the bottom with some recipes I had them send with the plants."

I gently pull the small pots out and sure enough, there's a small book underneath. I flip through the first twenty or so pages that are full of recipes all written by Peeta's hand.

"I figured you could fill up the rest of it on your own," he adds. I stand there speechless for a moment. He knows me so well. I look up at him suddenly, and see insecurity written all over his face.

"I love it, Peeta," I tell him. He meets my gaze and grins. It takes my breath away. I haven't seen him so blissfully happy since we won our Games. I cover the few feet separating us quickly and wrap my arms around his waist placing a brief kiss on his cheek. "Thank you," I whisper. He clears his throat and I back away.

"Open the others," he encourages. I grab Gale's next. I set aside the letter to read later and pull out a pair of amazingly supple leather gloves. They must have cost a great deal. "Wow," I hear Peeta say. "Those will be great for hunting."

"Yes. Just like your gift will be great for cooking, Peeta," I remind him when I notice his forlorn face. I set Gale's gift and letter aside and open Plutarch's next. The box is heavy as I pull it toward me across the table. This time I read the letter, knowing that there won't be anything Peeta wouldn't want to hear in it.

_Happy Birthday, Katniss! The reports Haymitch has been sending about your recovery are astounding. I'm happy to know that you're doing better. I'm also glad to have an excuse to send you this radio. I know you'll be more likely to listen to this than to watch my new singing contest on television. It's all government stuff on Channel One, so turn to Channel Two. Enjoy!_

_Plutarch _

I pull out the small device and set it down on the table. My father always wanted a radio, but they weren't cheap to come by. T.V.'s were standard issue so the Capitol could force us to watch their programming, but radios were a luxury that only the wealthy could afford.

"It's just like the one he sent me," Peeta says.

"You got one too?"

"Yeah, for my birthday. I'm glad he sent you one. Can I set it up for you?"

"Why don't we eat first?" I suggest.

"Oh, alright," he concedes. We grab bowls of soup and bread for soaking and sit down to eat. Peeta finishes swiftly, burning his tongue in the process, and starts washing dishes. He whisks my bowl away as soon as I take my last bite, and scrubs it quickly. "You're going to love this, Katniss," he tells me, picking up the radio and carrying it to the living room. "Okay, where do you want it?"

I laugh lightly at his enthusiasm and start rearranging things on the table underneath the front window.

"How about right here?" I suggest. He puts it down and finds an outlet nearby to plug into. He starts pressing buttons and turning dials. Suddenly a faint voice can be heard coming through the speakers. He turns the volume up slightly, and we stand there silently listening to the upbeat tune playing.

"They play music from all thirteen districts," Peeta explains when the first songs ends and another begins. I nod slowly letting my thoughts drift in time to the music. I hadn't realized there was so much music to be heard from other districts as well as ours. Music isn't exactly something the government encouraged. It was always seen as a time waster. That sort of entertainment wasn't what they wanted us focusing on. We were only supposed to get our kicks from the Games.

"Dance with me, Katniss," Peeta says suddenly, and I realize he's standing right next to me expectantly.

"Um, I don't really dance," I tell him.

"Bull," he exclaims, calling my bluff. "I saw you at Finnick and Annie's wedding. You were dancing. I wanted so badly to go and join all of you. It was like hearing music from home gave me back a part of myself that night. I saw you from afar just like I had seen you countless times at school and the market and the back door of my parent's bakery. And you looked so carefree that day. For a moment, you had let go and dropped that hard defensive shell you're always wearing, and I wanted to run out to join you in your blissful state. Only I couldn't then. But I can now," Peeta finishes just as a new song begins to flow from the speakers. He grabs my right hand and puts his own around my waist pulling me closer to him. I hesitate briefly, but then relax into his embrace, remembering the wedding. I wanted to be happy that night. I had wanted to let go and forget the Mockingjay, and the Games, and the Capitol. Tonight is no different. So, I place my left arm on Peeta's shoulder and let him begin swaying us to the tune.

_At last, my love has come along_

_My lonely days are over_

_And life is like a song_

My back is to the window when a breeze comes through, but it's not the not the chill in the night air that causes me to shiver. I look up at Peeta. The blue of his eyes seems to be a much darker shade and he's staring at me with an intensity I can feel from my scalp all the way down to my toes.

_Oh, yeah, at last_

_The skies above are blue_

_My heart was wrapped up in clovers_

_The night I looked at you_

He pulls me tighter and I let my hand creep up from his shoulder to the back of his neck. His eyelids drift closed for a moment as I begin twirling my fingers through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. After he releases me from his penetrating gaze, I let my head rest against his chest. My mind wanders to my dream from the night before. But there are no flames or death surrounding the two of us. In my head, it's just Peeta and me whispering 'I love you' to each other.

_I found a dream that I could speak to_

_A dream that I can call my own_

_I found a thrill to rest my cheek to_

_A thrill that I have never known_

"Peeta, I—" I start. The three words Peeta's been waiting to hear from me for fourteen years get caught in my throat, and I can't force them out. "Thank you," I tell him instead, knowing that the phrase is inadequate. I try to infuse the words with as much sincerity and emotion I can, so he'll know that even if I can't say the words I still care deeply for him. He gives me a warm smile in response, making his eyes crinkle at the corners. And I can see in his expression that he understands.

_Oh, yeah when you smile, you smile_

_Oh, and then the spell was cast_

_And here we are in heaven_

_For you are mine At last_

We stop moving to the music, and Peeta brings our linked hands closer to our bodies. His smile fades as his head dips lower and closer to me. He lets go of my hand, gently placing his palm against my cheek, his other hand still wrapped firmly around my waist.

"I love you, Katniss," he purrs just before his lips melt against mine. In the back of my mind, I hear the music switch to another slow song like the playlist was specifically designed for this moment. Peeta becomes bolder and his lips press more firmly to my mouth. I challenge back, matching his passion. My other hand finds its way up to his neck, and I find myself grasping and pulling him tighter to me.

Peeta pulls back suddenly, pressing his forehead to mine, and breathing heavily. I can hear my own breath mirroring his. He doesn't pause long before his mouth is claiming me again. This time his lips are slow and patient, trailing soft kisses along my jaw and down my neck. I search out his hands, and when I find one, pull him over to the couch to sit, having been on my feet long enough today. He sits down to join me, but resumes his previous activity. His mouth is back on mine and his hands run through my hair. I groan when his fingers scrape my scalp, remembering how amazing it was the first time he did it. I lose myself in the moment and let instinct send my hands roaming over his chest and arms. He leans into me slightly and I compensate by lying down on the cushions. I stretch my legs out and I feel his weight press me further into the couch as he mimics my pose. I'm feeling bold, so I part my lips slightly, and Peeta follows my cue, letting the tip of his tongue run along my bottom lip. The kiss deepens and our tongues meet, sending warmth throughout my body starting with my stomach and spreading out like wildfire.

We spend the next few minutes, hours, hell, days maybe mesmerized by each other's mouth. But before things get too heated and go too far, Peeta moves off me, breaking the kiss and turning onto his side, his back pressed against the back of the couch. His arms wrap around me and I turn into him using the arm underneath me as a pillow. Peeta helps sooth my nerves by brushing my hair lightly with the tips of his fingers. I kiss his chest three times before settling in against him, and letting my eyes drift close.

"My birthday was way better than yours," I mumble.

"I love you, Katniss," he whispers over and over in between kissing the top of my head, and I fall asleep to the sound of his voice and the magical radio playing softly in the background.

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><p><strong>AN: Okay, I know orange seems like a crazy color for the bakery, so here's a link for my inspiration http:/www (dot) houzz (dot) com/photos/415337/_trid=/Suzanne-Fortescue-eclectic-exterior-portland. So lively and fun, yes? (Also, I'm really new to putting in a link. I hope that works. Just put actual dots and take out the spaces.)**

**Sorry for any confusion about when I was going to upate. I was referring to the fact that I had posted chapter six only a week after chapter five. I shouldn't have gotten so excited though, since the gap between six and seven has been so long. I wish I could give you a better idea on an update schedule, but my life is way too chaotic to ****know when I'll finish a chapter and be able to post it. Thanks for sticking with me!**

**I'd love to hear what you think about them finally getting together! Thanks for reading!**

**Update: I'm such a doofus! I'm sorry, I'm running on three hours of sleep because I stayed up for the midnight showing of The Hunger Games and then had to be at work by 6:45am. But it was totally worth it! What did everyone else think? I loved it!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Many thanks to You May Call Me Goddess-Bitch Goddess for being speedy quick with this chapter. And to all of the fabulous readers, reviewers and all those who have added me to their alerts and favorites. I'm behind on responding to reviews; sorry.**

**Disclaimer: Suzanne Collins is the brilliant owner of these characters. I'm just continuing the story for her.**

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><p>Warmth is the first thing my mind registers as it struggles to break through the early morning fog. I nuzzle my head further into the pillow, not wanting to end the night's perfect sleep. I can't conjure up any nightmares from last night. It takes me a second, though, to realize that it isn't a pillow underneath my head. In fact, I'm tucked in tight against Peeta's chest, lying on his arm. The previous night's activities come rushing back to the forefront of my mind, and my stomach flip-flops at the memory. I peek down to see the quilt from the back of the couch has been pulled over us, and our legs are intertwined underneath. While my eyes are half open I notice the sunlight pouring through the windows.<p>

"Good morning," he whispers softly. His fingers start drifting lightly up and down my arm leaving goose bumps in their wake.

"What time is it?" I ask, opening my eyes finally and looking at his face. He looks rested. I'm assuming he had as easy a night as I did.

"Late," he replies.

"Shouldn't you be working?"

"I'm taking a day off," he explains. His hand moves past my shoulder, up my neck, to my face. He pushes some hair away from my face tucking it behind my ear.

"Is that okay? I mean you're opening in just a few days—" I start, but he stops my mouth with his own.

"It's more than okay," he assures me after pulling back. "What about you? You're usually hunting at this point."

"I shot a deer yesterday; I think I can skip a day," I reply, but still push myself to a sitting position anyway, disengaging my legs from Peeta's. "Let's get some breakfast," I suggest when Peeta's stomach growls. I stand and stretch my limbs before walking into the kitchen. Peeta joins me a minute later, taking the eggshells from me, and putting them into a bucket for the compost pile after rinsing them. "Will you grab the biscuits? And there's some jam in the fridge too."

We sit down a couple minutes later and begin our meal quietly.

"What are you planning to do today?" I ask after a few minutes, before taking a bite of scrambled eggs.

"I was actually hoping that offer to spend the day in the woods with you is still good."

"Um, yeah. Sure," I say, remembering his birthday when I had revealed my fear of losing our time together. I meant it then, and I think I still feel the same. It'll be hard to go back to being on my own so much more than I've gotten used to recently. "We can eat lunch out there if you'd like," I suggest.

"Sounds perfect," he agrees. We finish eating, and wash the dishes. "I should go change," he says, gesturing to his wrinkled clothing. I nod, and head upstairs to do the same.

I try to take the time alone in the shower to assess how I feel about what happened last night. The gifts, dancing, and kisses were not what I'd expected. But it all felt so familiar that it would be so easy to continue down that path. Only, I'm afraid of what would happen to the tenuous friendship we've just begun to build.

The sleep, oh, the sleep was incredible. I was beginning to forget what a restful slumber felt like. I let my mind briefly entertain the idea of propositioning Peeta into making a habit out of sleeping together. But then I come to my senses and realize how easily that could become confusing. I can't use Peeta like that, no matter how badly I want to. We may eventually find ourselves heading down that path, but I refuse to rush into anything.

I finish up in the bathroom, and dress quickly in order to get downstairs and put together some food to take with us. Peeta arrives just as I finish wrapping up a few sandwiches.

"Ready," he declares.

"Here, fill this with water," I tell him, handing over a canteen. I put the food in a bag and add the water before pulling the strap over my head and resting it on one shoulder. "All right, let's go."

"You aren't going to bring your bow?" Peeta asks.

"I'm not planning on doing any hunting," I explain.

We walk in silence at first. I don't want to bring up last night while we're walking, but I can't seem to make my mind focus on another topic. So, instead, I let myself take in the beautiful day. We couldn't have picked a better day for this. It's late enough for the sun to have dried the dew and warmed the air all around us. We're just over a week into May, and I can't help but see the truth in the old adage 'April showers bring May flowers'. I've never seen District 12 look so green and healthy. Grass grows in places it never did before. Homes and businesses have flowers planted in window boxes and bordering walkways. It seems like all my life the district has been gray and muddy. I find it nearly impossible to pull up any memories to contradict the bleak picture I'm currently comparing to what's before me now. It's one of the things I always loved about hunting in the woods. Being surrounded by so much plant life was uplifting. Now the forest has started to spill into our everyday lives. I don't have to escape to the woods in order to experience all that nature has to offer. But there's still nothing like walking into the shade of the trees and letting them swallow me up.

Peeta and I both seem to loosen up when we leave the fence behind us. I try to keep a slow pace, unsure of how well Peeta can manage with all the brush and leaves underfoot. The sunlight dances through the branches creating patterns across our faces. We walk side by side, our shoulders brushing one another occasionally. I feel Peeta's hand graze mine a few times before he finally grabs hold. I don't even try to fight it, finding his warmth and strength comforting.

"We should do this every week, or at least once a month," Peeta murmurs. I smile at him for whispering, but I understand the urge to be quiet. It's so tranquil that it'd be a crime to disturb such peace. "It's just so beautiful out here," he elaborates.

"I know."

"Now I know why you come out here everyday, even though you've plenty of funds for food," he states.

"Just because the Government is inclined to support me doesn't mean that I'm willing to accept their handouts. Sometimes I feel like its hush money or something. Like they'll give me whatever I want so I won't cause any trouble. But I never wanted to create any problems. I just wanted to get us home safely."

"Yeah, but you're what started the rebellion. Without us and what we did we'd still be trapped in the Games."

"I didn't start anything. I just brought it to the forefront of everyone's mind. And I have a hard time being grateful for our freedom when it comes at such a high price," I admit to him, thinking of Prim and all the others we've lost.

"Are you saying you wish things were the way they used to be?"

"Of course not. I just wish that there was some other way we could have accomplished the same thing without losing so much life."

"Yeah. Me too," Peeta agrees softly.

We walk on, letting the sounds of the forest fill the void of our conversation. I've grown so comfortable with Peeta now that I find myself at ease whether we're speaking or not. Feeling his hand in mine, my hand in his, offers me so much more peace than I ever expected.

It takes us a few more minutes before Peeta and I break through the trees and walk into a large meadow. We've traveled further in this direction than Gale and I ever did. I stumbled on this place the year in between the Games and Quarter Quell while Gale was working in the mines. I'm glad I never showed it to him, and that there's actually something in these woods that isn't filled with memories of us together.

"This is perfect," Peeta declares, and finds a place where the grass is shortest to sit down.

"It is pretty nice," I agree. "Gale and I never found much in this direction, so we didn't make it far enough to find this place," I explain to him. I have a feeling Peeta gets a little a jealous of how much time Gale and I used to spend together. He nods in understanding, then stretches out his leg and begins massaging high up on his thigh and hip. "Are you okay?" I ask, trying to avoid looking at his leg. It's not something we talk much about, and I feel guilt stab me in the gut at the realization.

"I'm fine. I'm just not used to doing much hiking."

"What's it feel like?" I blurt out, before clamping my mouth shut in embarrassment. "No, don't answer. I'm sorry, that was rude."

"It's okay. I don't mind," he reassures me, chuckling. "And it feels awful sometimes. Other times I don't really notice it. Every so often, it's like I can feel my leg still. The doctors told me to expect that. Phantom limb they call it," he says dryly. He looks far off, and his eyes glaze over. For a moment, his expression turns dark, and I can feel my chest splinter slightly at the anger I see building behind his blue eyes.

"I'm sorry," I tell him, and kneel down beside him. I set down the bag with our food and sit back on my legs. "I wish I could have done something different."

"It's okay," he responds, his eyes coming back to life and meeting mine. "There was nothing else to be done."

"I guess not," I concede. There's a pause in our conversation, and I look down at my hands in uncertainty.

"Hey," Peeta starts, and I look up slowly. "If you're not going to bring it up, I will."

"What do you mean?"

"Last night was incredible," he clarifies. "I'm just wondering if you're feeling the same or if I'm alone in this boat?"

"You're not alone," I mumble, and look away again.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" he asks, dipping his head to try to meet my gaze.

"I agree," I state, a little more loudly.

"That's what I thought," he declares confidently. I look back at him and see a smug grin spread across his face.

"Whatever!" I shove his shoulder slightly.

"So, what now?" he asks.

"What do you mean?" I ask him again. "Do you want to eat now?"

"No. I mean where do we go from here?" he explains, gesturing between the two of us.

"Oh." I reposition myself, pulling my legs out from under me and crossing them instead. "I don't know," I tell him truthfully. And I really have no clue what to make of our situation. I really enjoyed last night. Feeling Peeta's lips on mine was intoxicating. I hadn't realized how much I had missed that intimate sensation. His hands roaming over my skin was thrilling. I felt more alive wrapped in his arms. I felt so content and happy even.

"What if we…just took this slowly? Just let go and do what feels right. If things start to get uncomfortable, we'll just pull back. I'm not asking you to marry me, Katniss. I just want to be able to kiss you and hold you. I want to feel you kiss me back."

I breathe a sigh of relief at Peeta's words. A part of me had been worried what Peeta would expect now, but he either knows me better than I imagined or he's just as frightened of moving too fast too soon. Whatever the reason is, I'm grateful. I lean forward and grant him his request, brushing my lips lightly against his.

"I think that sounds perfect," I whisper, pulling back.

Only Peeta isn't satisfied, and follows me. His lips meet mine again and he continues moving forward forcing me to uncross my legs and lie back on the soft grass. He braces himself on his left arm, leaving his right hand free to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. His hand continues moving down, his fingers ghosting lightly over my neck. They trail down the side of my ribs, and hook into the waistband of my pants. Peeta uses his thumb to push my shirt up slightly, and begins making lazy circles on my abdomen. I take his words to heart and attempt to let go and do what feels right. I slowly part my lips, hoping he'll get the idea. I smile inwardly when he does precisely what I had anticipated as he runs his tongue along mine. I hear Peeta groan when I wrap my arms around his back, letting one hand slide up to his neck and pulling him closer. He nudges his good leg in between mine and I open myself up hooking my leg around his. He gives me a second to breathe, trailing soft kisses across my cheek, along my jaw, and down my neck before taking it away again when he pulls my earlobe between his teeth.

My mind floats back to the last time we had been locked in a similar embrace; lying on a beach, taking advantage of what we thought would be our last chance to experience each other that way. I can feel the same hunger from then start to build low in my abdomen. It spreads slowly, consuming every nerve ending, so that when Peeta touches any part of me my skin prickles. That gnawing need finally gets the chance to make its presence known deep in my pelvis, and as if he can read my mind, Peeta bends his knee and presses gently upward against me. I hum in satisfaction, having only ever experienced that feeling at the mercy of my own hand.

I moan for the first time when Peeta allows more of his weight to rest on top of me. I can tell that he's still holding back, but my mind is too preoccupied to try to change that. He pushes his knee more firmly against me and this time I thrust my hips up into him. I notice his hardness on my thigh, and I can feel my face heat just thinking about what's concealed behind his jeans.

All too suddenly, Peeta pulls his head back, breaking our kiss.

"I don't think this corresponds with taking things slow," he murmurs and then rolls off me onto his back, but stays pressed to my side.

"I guess not." I sit up slowly, still disoriented slightly. I reach up to smooth my hair and start picking out bits of grass. I end up pulling the band out and letting my hair loose in order to get every little piece. I turn abruptly in confusion when I hear Peeta groan behind me.

"Are you trying to kill me?" He sits up, behind me slightly, and starts helping me pluck the nature from my head. It doesn't take him long to lose sight of the task at hand and start running his fingers through the still damp tangles. "You know what your hair does to me when it's like this," he whispers, and I hear him inhale deeply, burying his nose. He slowly gathers it all in one hand and brushes it across my shoulder, leaving my neck exposed on the other side. He bends down and skims his lips over my skin, then kisses lightly before humming in pleasure and standing up. "We should walk or eat or…anything else," he says in a rush.

I can still feel the sensation of his lips on my skin. I shake my head and walk over to where I left the bag with our food.

"Let's eat first," I suggest, hand Peeta a sandwich, and then take a bite out of my own. He sits back down across from me to start eating. Our eyes meet, and I can see his desire lingering still. It was probably a good idea to stop when we did.

"I'm sorry, Katniss," Peeta starts after the few minutes' silence as we ate. "I didn't mean to pounce on you like some horny teenaged boy."

I give him a smirk, thinking that technically we are still teenagers.

"Was I pushing you away?" I ask him, one eyebrow raised.

"No," he replies sheepishly, a grin starting to spread.

"Then don't apologize," I tell him. "But thank you, for keeping us under control."

We eat in silence then, both of us looking around, and taking in our surroundings. I am grateful to Peeta for reining us in. I can easily see myself falling too quickly into a physical relationship with Peeta and getting confused and lost in the mix. But that doesn't mean I'm not enjoying myself immensely. I grin and stifle a giggle, but quickly turn it into a scowl feeling very stupid. I glance over at Peeta and see him sitting there completely unaware what a goofy girl he's turned me into.

I decide to show Peeta around the meadow and the forest after we finish eating. I tell him the different names of the wildflowers, and he gathers a bundle and hands it to me with a cheesy look and a roll of my eyes. I tell him about the flowers that are suitable for eating as well.

"Dandelions? Really?" he asks astonished that someone might make a meal from a weed.

"Of course," I respond, nonchalantly. "Dandelions make a great salad," I state, thinking back eight long years. "We gorged ourselves on dandelions and the bread you threw to me the night after that happened."

"Oh," is Peeta's only reply. He bends to pick what I think is the start of another bouquet, but when he straightens back up he pops a little yellow flower into his mouth and begins chewing with gusto. "Now we've both eaten dandelions," he declares proudly once he's swallowed. I roll my eyes again and push past him, heading back toward the woods.

I point out all the different types of trees and plants to him, and the different animal tracks, as we start walking in the direction of home. We make our way more slowly this time. I try to convince myself that I'm doing it for Peeta and his leg again, but really, I just don't want our afternoon to end.

Since Peeta and I were first officially introduced on Reaping day I haven't been able to decide what to feel about him. I tried to remain indifferent to his fate, knowing that only one of us could survive. But everything changed in the arena. And then everything changed again when we came home and there was Gale to deal with, and the fact that I had never been looking to be romantically involved with anyone. Things only became more confusing on the victory tour when we started relying on each other for comfort. When I thought I'd lost him in the Quarter Quell…I still didn't admit how much I truly cared for him. And after he strangled me, I tried in vain to force him from my heart and mind. But now, in this time of peace, it's as if I'm finally free to feel whatever I want, which makes things with Peeta so much easier. Without the threat of death and destruction hanging over our heads, being friends is a lot simpler than I imagined.

He reaches for my hand again, and I give him an encouraging squeeze in response. We make casual conversation at times, but for the most part, we walk in silence, which isn't as uncomfortable for me anymore. I don't know if it's the extra time Peeta and I have been spending together or 'talking' to Prim when I go hunting, or maybe it's how noisy warm weather can be. No matter what the reason is, I'm happy that I don't feel the need to talk aimlessly anymore in order to be at ease.

The position of the sun indicates that it's late in the afternoon when I see the fence up ahead, just on the other side of the trees. I meet resistance suddenly and turn to see Peeta standing still.

"Is it foolish of me to not want to go back," he asks quietly.

"No," I tell him. "Would you believe me if I told you I feel the same?"

He tugs on my arm, pulling me to him. I melt into him, pressing my face to his chest, and feeling safe for the first time in years knowing that Peeta is here to take care of me. It's a feeling I haven't had the luxury of since my father died.

"I am excited about opening the bakery. But the idea of staying out here, just the two of us, with nothing and no one to bother us, and you in my arms, is so incredibly tempting," Peeta whispers the last part in my ear before turning my face up toward his and softly kissing my lips. I have to admit, I'm slightly tempted myself. Just beyond those trees lie real life, and all its burdens and horrifying memories. This afternoon has been such a sweet respite from the monotony and pain. But if we did stay out here, eventually reality would come creeping out to join us; the fantasy cannot last forever.

"Come on," I say, pulling Peeta along, and he reluctantly shuffles forward.

Instinctively, Peeta drops my hand when we reach town, and the prying eyes it holds. There's no one in the Seam anymore for us to mind. They claimed none of the houses were structurally sound for habitation. As if the house I grew up was ever structurally sound, I muse.

We spend the rest of the afternoon around the house. Peeta helps me in the garden for a while. We sit out on the porch listening to the radio play through the open window until the time comes to start dinner. I briefly contemplate using Hazelle's long overdue invitation to join them, but I don't think Peeta or I are ready to share each other just yet. Tomorrow things go back to normal. I just want to lose myself in what I'm feeling today, and bask in the warmth of the new step in this relationship.

There are no long make out sessions tonight. Only soft caresses and brief kisses. I'm fearful of letting Peeta leave. I long to fall asleep in his arms, and let him chase away the nightmares. But we're taking this slowly, and sleeping in the same bed would most likely speed things up far beyond our comfort zones.

"Goodnight, Katniss." Peeta wraps his arms around me. We embrace much longer than normal, and I hear him whisper 'I love you' into my hair. Our lips meet one last time for the day, and Peeta retreats into the darkness before either can change our minds on sleeping arrangements.

"Goodnight, Peeta," I call out to him, and then turn back to go inside.

Back in my own bed, I burrow deep under the covers, trying to get warm. The loss of Peeta has left me feeling cold and lonely. I creep back downstairs and bring the radio back up with me. I plug it in near my bed, turning the volume low. I crawl back under the blanket, slightly more comforted, and drift off to sleep slowly.

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><p><strong>AN: I know this is shorter and a bit of a filler chapter, but I hope it was still enjoyable. I thought about combining it with the next chapter, but that would make the wait longer than I'm sure you'd all like. I can't believe this little story is about to hit 100 reviews! You guys are all so amazing! I'm working on an outtake in Peeta's POV. Maybe I'll post it when we hit 100? ; ) DH and I are leaving for San Diego in a few days (five year anniversary, whoop! whoop!) so the gap between this chapter and the next may be longer than I'd like, but I'm going to have so much more free time on vacation. I'm hoping to get a lot written while I'm gone.**

**Also, I've finally hopped on the Twitter train. Come chat about whatever. Or kick my butt into gear if it's been too long between updates. hedixo01 **

**Oh! I totally forgot to see if anyone noticed last chapter which famous artist Peeta shares a birthday with? Click that little review button and let me know when you figure it out. ; )**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I know it's been forever. Don't hate me! Thanks as always to my beta, You May Call Me Goddess - Bitch Goddess for getting this chapter to me quickly even through sickness. **

**Disclaimer: All the characters belong to the brilliant Suzanne Collins. No copyright infrigement is intended.**

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><p>"Peeta," I say in between kisses. "Peeta," I repeat, because he just won't stop.<p>

"What?" he complains, but doesn't stop assaulting me.

"I have…to start…dinner," I explain before turning my mouth away from Peeta in order to catch my breath. It doesn't deter him though, because now he's making his way down my neck. He pulls my collar wide over my shoulder to give it attention as well.

"I can't help it. I've missed you so much," he confesses. I let my elbows rest on the counter he's pushing me into and close my eyes. I guess dinner can wait for a little bit.

The bakery's been open for a week now, and Peeta has spent nearly every second he isn't sleeping there working. So far, he's only hired one person to help, thinking that would suffice for a while. He didn't anticipate being so busy so soon.

He's up and elbow deep in dough by four in the morning. They open at six and don't close for twelve hours. Even then, Peeta stays after to start prep on some of the items for the next day. For the past seven days, he's arrived here for a late dinner he shovels in, and then ends up falling asleep on the couch, his head in my lap.

So, I relax and let him kiss me, because, truthfully, I've missed him too. It's been quiet around here, and much less cheery without him. I think I'm going to break my radio with how much I use it when I'm at home without him. I tried to stop by once, and say hi after I finished hunting, but he was so busy that I didn't get to talk much to him. He was running around trying to do everything himself. He's finally decided to ease up and give some responsibilities to Isaac, his only employee, which is what has brought him here two hours early.

His mouth stays glued to my neck, while his hands drift down around my waist. He grips tightly, and I gasp when he lifts me up, setting me on the counter. He stands to his full height, our faces now on the same level. I stare briefly into his eyes before he leans in to kiss me again. I can see his longing plainly, but the pale shadows underneath tell a different story. He can't be getting much sleep with how crazy his schedule is now. And it's not like his sleeping habits were that stellar in the first place.

His hands don't give me much time to worry, as they slip under my shirt and start creeping slowly up my back. I put my own hands on his shoulders and start massaging gently. He groans and pulls me in tight against his chest. I work my thumbs in on some of the tighter spots, and then move up to his scalp.

"You're going to put me to sleep if you keep doing that," Peeta whispers, his lips brushing along my ear.

"Are you complaining?" I lean back and ask with a smirk.

"I don't know," he replies, a confused expression on his face. I take advantage of his momentary uncertainty to hop down.

"Then let me at least heat you up some leftovers before I put you to sleep with my hands." I pull out last night's dinner and throw the dish into the preheated oven to warm. Peeta groans again, and I stand and turn around quickly. "What?"

"Nothing…" he says, running a hand through his hair.

"No, tell me," I insist.

"No way." He shakes his head before continuing. "It's embarrassing," he explains.

"Okay, then."

It doesn't take long for the food to finish, and after a few minutes, we sit down at the table to eat. I don't even bother to tell Peeta to slow down anymore. I'm only half way through my own food when Peeta drops his fork to the plate and pushes back from the table. He laces his fingers behind his head and closes his eyes. When I finish eating and take our plates to the sink, I realize he must have dozed off since he hasn't hopped up to join me. I try to keep the noise to a minimum, but a plate slips from my grip, banging against the other. Peeta startles, and reaches out for the table to keep from falling out of the chair. I stifle a laugh; he's just too endearing when he gets so sleepy.

"Why don't you go lay down?" I suggest. Instead, he rubs his eyes, and walks toward me.

"I'm sorry," he starts. "Let me help you."

"Don't need any help. I'm almost finished," I assure him. "Go on," I insist, giving him a little bump with my hip since my hands are covered in suds. He walks away, but when I hear music fill the house, I know he didn't lie down right away.

Two songs play before I finish the dishes and leave them to dry on the counter. Peeta's sitting sideways on the couch, his long legs stretched out in front of him. I make my way to the other end, and mimic his position. Only I burrow my feet between his legs and the back of the couch, pushing him to the outside.

"So you left early today?" I inquire, hoping he'll elaborate.

"Well, I let Isaac handle the front in the afternoon, so I was able to start tomorrow's prep earlier. Thus, I ended up finishing earlier. It was…nice. I had to help out a few times, but he's a fast learner."

"Good. I'm glad everything's still working out. Who knew that in just two short months you'd be the owner and operator of your very own bakery?"

"It does feel a little surreal," Peeta admits. He looks away towards the fireplace that hasn't been in use for a few weeks now; his eyes grow distant. "Sometimes when I'm kneading a large batch of dough, and I'm not paying attention to the fact that the room is painted a different color, and that the door to the front room is on the other side, I feel like I'm back in my parents kitchen; like it's going to be my dad or one of my brothers walking in to say something, and not Isaac."

My heart breaks a little at his confession. I know all too well what that feels like. But that doesn't help me when it comes to trying to offer comfort to Peeta. I wish I could think of something brilliant to say, but I've never been the great speaker in this duo.

"I talk to Prim sometimes," I tell him. I'm not sure why, but maybe if he knows just how crazy I am, he won't feel so messed up. "But only when I'm in the woods. I feel like she's there with me; like if I turn around she'll be right behind me, walking in my shadow."

The corners of his mouth turn up slightly.

"That sounds nice," he responds.

"You don't think I'm crazy?"

"No," he chuckles. "I mean, if I was a stranger and heard you doing that I might be a little concerned for your sanity, but I know you're not loony." He pauses and smiles larger before continuing. "You're not answering for her are you?"

"No, I'm not," I declare, and emphasize my statement by throwing the pillow from behind my back at his face. "I just tell her stuff. Like what's going on around here."

"Do you think she can hear you? I mean, what do you think happens after…you know?"

I stay silent for a minute to think. Peeta pulls my feet into his lap and starts massaging his thumbs into the bottoms. What happens after death is something I've thought about for many years, ever since my dad died. And even though I'd thought long and hard about what happens when a person dies, I'd never come to any conclusions. But I never knew such comfort after my dad died as I do talking to Prim in the woods. I think suddenly of Annie, and how she draws her comfort from being in the water. It's like they're speaking to us in a way they know we'll listen.

"I don't know for sure what happens, but I do think she can hear me. Or at least I think she knows I'm ok. And I feel like she's ok too. Maybe that's what she's trying to reassure me of. That even though I can't take care of her anymore, it's ok because she's free from all the misery for good now."

"That's huge, Katniss," Peeta's expression is full of amazement. "Have you mentioned any of this to Dr. Aurelius?"

I roll my eyes at his mention of the good doctor.

"I have not talked to him about it because I don't want him sending Haymitch over to baby sit me, or prescribing me pills I refuse to take. I see nothing wrong with what I'm doing," I state, feeling the need to defend myself.

"I know, I know," Peeta affirms. "I agree. I don't see anything wrong either. It has obviously been therapeutic for you. I was mainly referring to the fact that it seems you've started to make peace with Prim's death."

I pull my feet slowly from Peeta's lap, bending my knees and hugging them to my chest. I've yet to come to any conclusions on how I'm feeling now about losing Prim. When I repeat to myself what I just told Peeta, it does appear as if I've gained some sort of closure. But even though I feel comforted when I'm in the woods, I am far from at peace when I think of Prim being blown to pieces by the Capital, the Rebels, or whoever. The pain is searing when I wake in the middle of the night screaming for Prim to run. And the door to her room remains forever closed to me.

"Well, that's not the case," I insist. "Even if it seems that way," I finish with a whisper and turn my head, resting it on my knees. Peeta scoots closer to me and starts rubbing the sides of my legs and the arms wrapped around them.

"I know, sweetheart," he soothes, and kisses my hair.

We stay that way until I feel tears pooling behind my eyelids, at which point I take a deep breath before wiping them away. I exhale and look up at Peeta who gives me a small smile.

"My Katniss," he whispers before grabbing my shoulders and pulling me into a kiss.

I drop my knees to one side before sweeping them completely underneath me. Our kisses usually start out slow and sweet, but it never takes long before we're frantically pulling, grasping, and pushing ourselves ever closer together. So, it's only a short amount of time before I'm pressing Peeta back into the cushions, and straddling his waist. I'm usually not so bold, not being very experienced with this type of activity, but I'm desperate for anything to distract me. I've often found that when Peeta and I get so wrapped up like this, my mind loses focus on anything other than Peeta's body and the way mine reacts to him. All is blissfully silent inside my head, but my skin is screaming for contact. When Peeta slides his hands up the outside of my bare thighs (thank you warm weather that necessitates the need for shorts), I revel in all the ways we're so in tune to each other. He doesn't stop when he gets to my hips, but instead circles around to cup my backside. He massages slowly for a moment before his hands are under my shirt rising slowly up my back, his fingers splayed wide with his thumbs hitting each rib on their ascent. He hesitates when he reaches my bra. Feeling bold again, I take the chance to sit up and pull my shirt up and over my head, wanting to feel his touch everywhere. The expression on his face gives me pause for moment. He looks surprised, but the shock cannot mask the desire I see so clearly. Peeta moves his hands around to my waist; his touch is lighter, softer. He travels upward again, skimming lightly over the cotton of my bra. There's an ache building again low in my gut. I reach down, grab his shirt, tugging forcefully until Peeta rises up just enough for me to get it off. I lay forward, gasping at the feel of his warm chest against me.

"Katniss," he cautions. I ignore it, silencing him, and bringing my mouth back to his. His hands are all over my back, my arms, my sides, and my shoulders, dancing around the bra straps. I want him to pull them down. I want the whole thing off. I want to be completely flush against him. But Peeta refuses to comply, so I reach behind me, to undo the clasps. I rise up again slightly to pull it off.

"Katniss, no," Peeta admonishes. I press myself back to him, but he remains motionless, his arms glued to his sides. "We should stop," he tells me.

"Please, Peeta," I plead with him. I put my hands on his chest, and push up slightly. "I need this. Please." In my boldest move yet, I grab his hand and press it to my right breast. "Please," I whimper again, and grind my pelvis into his. Peeta finally gives in then, letting his other hand mimic the same position. I stay up on my knees somewhat in order to give his hands plenty of room to roam, and lean forward to meet his lips again. His thumbs brushing back and forth across my nipples, sends me moaning into his mouth. I let my hands travel down his sides to his hips now, and circle around to the front instead of the back. I take a risk and hook my fingers into the waistband pulling away enough to undo the button. Peeta stills beneath me, his hands moving from breasts to shoulders. He pushes me away and sits up; I mange to keep my legs wrapped around his waist still.

"Dammit, Katniss!" he shouts. "We can't do this."

"Yes, Peeta. Please. I know you want this too," I remind him, and attempt to kiss his unmoving lips. I reach for his pants again, but he thwarts me, grabbing my wrists.

"Of course I want this. I always want you. But I will not let you use me like this."

"I'm not using you," I assure him. "I want you, Peeta." I say his name as passionately as possible. He groans in frustration, and bends down to pick up our discarded clothes. He holds out my shirt for me, but I make no move to take it.

"Just put the damn shirt on, Katniss!" he barks. When I remain motionless still, he bunches the fabric in his hands, and yanks it down over my head.

"What is your problem, Peeta?" I shout back at him, shoving my arms vehemently through the holes.

"I told you. I'm not going to let you use me, use _us_, like this!" he states again, gesturing to the two of us.

"And I told you, I'm not using you!" I respond, sounding like a child.

"Bull shit, Katniss! Not fifteen minutes ago, you were crying over Prim. I know you. And I know you're using me to avoid thinking about her, about all of it. I won't allow it," Peeta finishes.

"You won't _allow_ it? When did you become so authoritative?" I ask him, with maybe a little too much sarcasm.

"When you lost control, Katniss. Don't be angry with me for trying to do the right thing here."

"Well, then you and your high morals can head on home alone then, I guess."

"Katniss, no," he urges gently. He takes a few steps towards me. I back away, completely on the defensive. "Don't shut me out like this," he pleads.

"Then you shouldn't have rejected me," I tell him.

"I'm not rejecting you. I told you I want you, Katniss." He steps toward me again. "I know you can _feel_ how much I want you," he murmurs. I feel my cheeks heat. My eyes dart quickly, of their own accord, down to Peeta's pelvis. Yes, I definitely felt him. I also felt him push me away, more than once.

I take another step back, square my shoulders, and meet his gaze once again.

"Get out. Go home, Peeta," I order.

"Fine," he concedes after a minute spent staring at me. I suppose he was waiting for me to back down. "I'll go to my house. I'll sleep in my bed. But you're a fool if you think any place other than right here with you is my home." He turns, and walks away, slamming the door upon his exit.

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><p><strong>AN: So, I know it's shorter this time. I was planning on making nine and ten one big chapter, but this just seemed like such a great place to end. And I swear the wait won't be as long for the next chapter. I had a little writer's block on this one, but I got through it, and chapter ten is nearly done. **

**Thank you so much for all the amazing reviews! And for adding me to your alerts/favorites. I'm so happy you guys are enjoying this. **

**So I know I teased you with a Peeta outtake if we made it to 100 reviews. I'm currently working on it. I wish I could write faster for you amazing people, but sadly I just can't. **

**And finally, if you're interested I've got a teaser for the next chapter, as a treat for how gracious you guys have been while waiting. Just let me know if you want it. **

**P.S. I like to chill on Twitter, A LOT. hedixo01. Come join me!**

**P.P.S. *facepalm* Did I totally forget to tell you who Peeta shares a birthday with? I'm such an idiot. I chose Leonardo DaVinci. I wanted Peeta's b'day to be in the Spring, and it was just so perfect to have good ole Leo just waiting to share with him. ;)**


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: I'm so sorry for the wait, which is why this chapter is unbeta'd. I hope my mistakes aren't too dreadful. Longer note at the bottom…see you there.

Disclaimer: Suzanne Collins is one hell of a story teller; I'm just freeloading.

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><p>Peeta had morphed into being a part of my everyday life so effortlessly. It was difficult seeing him so little the week the bakery opened, but we still had dinner together every evening. When did I become so dependent on Peeta that three days without him is torture?<p>

I've had nightmares about living without Peeta, but that isn't the case currently. He's perfectly within my reach. Just down the road. All I have to do is swallow my pride, and approach him; apology on the tip of my tongue. I know I was wrong that night.

I snatched my bra off of the floor after the door slammed, and stalked upstairs. I changed clothes in a hurry, and climbed under the covers, still seething. I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling, but my body was too hyped up still for sleeping. I rolled to each side, and flopped over to my stomach, trying to get comfortable. I nearly beat the life out of my pillows punching them in my anger, and regret. Peeta and I had agreed to take things slowly. I knew I didn't want to move too fast physically, and yet I let myself get carried away. I had lost control, as Peeta had pointed out. And I knew the reason I'd been so eager wasn't merely just lust. I was searching for escape and when I found it, I was frantically trying to travel deeper and deeper into oblivion.

I barely slept that night. I skipped hunting the next morning. I stayed in bed all day, but Peeta never came to knock my door down. I stumbled downstairs to the kitchen to piece together something for dinner. I let a few silent tears fall while I sat at the small table eating alone. After washing the dishes, I stood in the living room staring at the radio. I contemplated carrying it upstairs for the night. Eventually, my anger won out and I left it on the table, as I ascended the stairs back to my room.

The following day I managed to make it out to the woods. I found that I didn't have the patience to wait for anything to cross my path, so I set traps and a few lines in the pond. I practiced throwing my knife while I waited. I started out hitting my target every time, but the more aggressive I became the worse my aim was. I ended up missing the tree completely on the last ten tosses, and had to search for my knife multiple times among the brush. I stayed out there longer than necessary, avoiding the empty house waiting for me. It hadn't rained yesterday and the garden showed signs of too much heat from the sun. When I finally went inside I showed signs of too much sun as well. I had removed my button up shirt in favor of the tank underneath, which left my shoulders and neck bare. They were pink and sensitive to the touch. I slathered on some of my leftover burn cream that I hadn't been using for a while now. It made lying down in bed easier, but sleep still didn't come quickly.

By the third day I still hadn't had any contact from Peeta. I was tired from my sleepless nights, but I implemented my old routines, and went through the day in a relatively peaceful fog. I hunted, I gathered, I tended the garden. I took care of laundry, and other house work I'd neglected recently. When I sat down to eat dinner, I wondered briefly whether or not Peeta was having as hard a time as I was.

Thoughts of Peeta throwing himself into his work, baking, painting, and thinking little of me, follow me up the stairs and into the bathroom. I decide on a cool shower before bed; the day was unseasonably hot. I resign myself to another lonely day tomorrow, and settle in to fall asleep.

_Even though Gale and I looked upon the valley frequently from our perch in the forest, we never ventured downward. So it seems odd for me to be here at dawn. There are far fewer trees down here, and the fog is still rolling along the wet grass. The sky is clear, and there's a hint of yellow peaking over the tall hills. It's oddly warm for so early in the morning. I walk around slowly, enjoying the beautiful scene. My breath catches when I see blond hair just ahead of me, weaving through the scattered trees. I pick up the pace slightly, half excited and half afraid of whom this mysterious person is dressed in white. When I finally reach her, she's seated on a large rock near a tree with other smaller rocks scattered close by. I resist the urge to speak, choosing instead to merely sit down on the other end of the boulder. I look straight ahead and take a moment to compose myself before turning to face her. _

_I shift my body sideways completely, pulling my left leg up onto the rock. I just look at her for the longest time. She appears slightly older. Her face is thinner; more mature looking. Even though she's sitting, I can see that her frame looks more like mine. Our eyes are on the same level. I no longer look down on her like my little sister; she's my equal now. After I spend a few minutes studying her face, I scoot closer and reach out to lightly stroke her hair. She doesn't speak, but lets out a deep sigh instead. I move in behind her and comb through her fine hair with both hands. I separate all of it into three sections and begin braiding slowly. Her hair isn't quite as long as mine, so it doesn't take long. I pull a band off my wrist to tie at the end. I put the braid over her left shoulder and reposition myself so that I'm flush up against Prim's back. I rest my chin on her shoulder and wrap my arms around her waist. I feel her rest her head against mine, as she leans back into me slightly. We sit there forever it seems, watching the sun rise slowly from behind the hills. _

I wake slowly, letting my eyes float open, and my mind focus on where I really am. I know I'm in my bed, but it felt so real to be walking in the valley and sitting with Prim on that rock.

Prim…she looked so perfect. I can still remember the way it felt to hold her, and I hug myself tightly, trying to hold on to the memory. I push back the blankets after a few more moments spent reflecting, and slide out of bed. I yawn and stretch, feeling rested.

Still feeling relatively calm from my dream, I take a risk and leave my room, treading barefoot down the hall to Prim's. I stare at the door, my hand hovering over the doorknob, waiting to turn it. I wiggle my fingers in anticipation, and then finally grab it tightly before turning slowly. The door opens smoothly. I can only just make out the shapes of the furniture, so I flip on the light. I'm not entirely sure what I expected to see, so it takes my breath away to see everything looking exactly the same as it did the last day she slept here.

My mother gave each of us a quilt that she had from her childhood, and had brought with her to the Seam after getting married. They aren't very large, which is why my blue and green one is currently folded on the back of the couch. But Prim's bed is smaller, and her white, pink and yellow quilt fits perfectly. She has two small pillows on the bed in addition to the one for sleeping. I sit on the edge and grab the one with her flower stitched all over it. I look down at the other. I know the words well, stitched so delicately by my mother's hand, but Prim understood them better than I ever have. I trace the letters with my finger.

_We don't have to reap the fear they sow._

We interpreted the words differently. I used breaking the law and hunting to defy the capital, refusing to be frightened into submission. Prim on the other hand took a less aggressive path. Where she saw oppressed and anxious faces she worked her hardest to try and infuse joy into hearts as a quiet way to rebel. But she was young, and more easily disheartened. So my mother stitched this pillow for her birthday one year, hoping to bolster her courage. I had argued with her; we had had a rough winter, and were just getting back on our feet. I was reluctant to spend money on the fabric or have to trade meat for thread; even if it was for Prim. But she loved her gift. She would fall asleep with it most nights; her finger tracing the same pattern mine is now. I lie down on my side, and hold both pillows tight.

Across the room, Prim's desk is in perfect order. There's a sketch of Buttercup in one corner and a photograph taken the day I returned from my first games of Prim, our mother and myself next to it. For a moment I consider going through the drawers, but I don't think I have the strength for that just yet. In fact I can feel my brief calm receding. With my face pressed against the pillow, I breathe in Prim's clean, sweet scent. My vision of her perfect and pretty bedroom becomes blurred. My tears fall silent and continuous.

I spend the morning curled up in Prim's room, thinking about her life, her death, and the dream I had last night. Eventually, my mind drifts to Peeta and what he said to me days before about making peace with Prim's passing. There's nothing that can diminish just how much I miss her. But in my dream, she seemed happy, helping the pain fade.

When my eyes run dry, I sit up slowly, and replace the pillows. I straighten the quilt. I walk around the room, letting my fingers float over every piece of furniture. I've avoided this room for a year, convinced that I couldn't handle it. And maybe I wasn't stable enough a few months ago. But things have changed, and so have I. I no longer have to face any of this alone.

I change into clean clothing, and head down the stairs. There's a brief knock on the front door when I get halfway down, and Haymitch walks in without pause.

"Well, come on in, Haymitch. Make yourself at home," I tell him, when I reach the bottom. We usually let ourselves in to each other's homes, but it doesn't stop us from nagging one another about it.

"Alright, sweetheart, what'd you forget this time?" he asks, making his way into the dining room to sit in one of the chairs. I lean back against the wall opposite him and cross my arms over my chest.

"What are you talking about? I haven't forgotten anything," I defend myself, although, I very easily could have missed something with my track record.

"Well, something's gotten Peeta in a state," he explains.

"What do you mean?" I wonder briefly if Peeta was angrier than I thought, about me ordering him to leave.

"He had a minor setback. He had a flashback, and nearly scared the shit outta Hazelle putting his hand through a window," he explains, gruffly.

"Damn," I mutter under my breath. "Is he okay?"

"Oh, he's fine. I think the glass breaking shocked him back into consciousness, so no more harm was done. His right hand is pretty banged up though."

I look down at the floor in front of me, feeling so small. Whether Peeta's flashback was my fault or not, I should have been there. In my mind I picture Hazelle cleaning the blood off his knuckles and wrapping them up; that should have been me.

"When did this happen?" I ask, pushing away from the wall.

"Couple days ago."

"Why didn't anyone tell me?" I demand.

"'Cause he told us not to," he explains. "And I don't like to get in the middle of a lovers quarrel," he finishes with a smirk.

"Well, what made you change your mind? You're here now; telling me against his wishes," I challenge.

"Since when did I ever listen to anybody, let alone a moody teenage boy? Honestly, the boy hasn't looked right ever since. He just looks a little addled; lost."

"And you're telling me now because you think I can help?"

"Maybe you can, maybe you can't, but you certainly should be trying."

His chastisement immediately triggers my defenses.

"I haven't exactly been able to help, since no one thought to tell me what happened," I snap back at him.

"We shouldn't have to tell you. Tell me, sweetheart, you and Peeta have been spending time together everyday for how long?" he starts, and doesn't bother to pause long enough for me to answer. "Remind me, when was the last time you two were separated abruptly like this?"

I feel my knees go weak, and have to search frantically for a chair before I fall to the floor.

The arena. Blowing up the force field. The rebellion. Peeta's torture. It all comes crashing back to me, and now I feel completely mortified. I've been so stupid and selfish, yet again.

I sit at the table for a few minutes, lost in the memories. I faintly hear Haymitch leave, while in my stupor. I allow myself a moment of resentment that Haymitch seems to only come by when I've messed up. And then my mind snaps back to the real issue at hand.

I leave the house soon after Haymitch exits, and make my way to the bakery feeling penitent. I need to talk to Peeta. I need him to forgive my behavior; for using and then dismissing him, and for allowing myself to shut him out again for three agonizing days. I need to tell him that he was right, and that I have come closer toward the realization that Prim's death doesn't have to be as life ending as I've made it out to be. I need to apologize for abandoning him, and not being there when he lost himself amidst the despair.

I try to use the time walking to collect my thoughts, and figure out what I want to say, but when I step through the bakery's front door, my mind empties completely.

There are primroses scattered throughout the window, the display case, and the whole front room. Real ones in vases, sugar ones on a cake, and painted ones on iced cookies. My eyes dart quickly around the bright room, and come to rest on Peeta's face. Before meeting his gaze, I note the hair covering the lower half of his face, and then the shadows beneath his eyes. He looks worried and relieved all at once. I don't really know how long I stand in the doorway before someone comes in behind me, and I'm forced to actually enter. Peeta mumbles something to Isaac, and removes his apron as he walks toward me. He takes my hand and squeezes it gently, pulling me to the back. I look around once more at all the sweet little flowers as we pass them by.

When we reach the top of the stairs, Peeta pulls me into a crushing hug. I sink into his embrace, reveling in his familiar warmth and smell. Peeta releases me briefly prior to bending over and scooping me up in his arms. I feel slightly uncomfortable with the gesture, but I stay silent and still while he carries me over to one of the large chairs. He sits down, situating me on his lap. He places his hands on either side of my face, and studies it intently. His hands move around and down to the bottom of my braid. He doesn't ask before he pulls the band off and begins threading his fingers through it. I let my eyes close, and lose myself in the feel of his fingers. It startles me when Peeta's lips brush lightly across mine; with my eyes closed I didn't notice him lean in.

"Katniss…" he breathes. He shifts and presses his cheek against mine. He leans back against the cushions, taking me with him. I relax against him, scooting down enough in order to rest my head on his shoulder. We sit there silently; Peeta's fingers weaving through my hair still.

"I'm sorry, Peeta," I choke out, after nearly ten minutes. I feel my eyes water, and quickly blink away the tears.

"I know," he replies. "I'm sorry too."

I push away from him slightly to see his face better.

"What are you sorry for?"

"For listening to you, and walking out. For not staying and helping you sort everything out," he admits. "And my greatest offense has been staying away from you for three days," he finishes. He brushes my hair back over my shoulder, and I notice the bandages on his right hand. I grab it quickly, trying to be gentle.

"Oh, Peeta, I completely forgot." I run my fingers over the gauze and tape, and lightly kiss his knuckles. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there. I should have been with you. This wouldn't have even happened if I hadn't been so stupid."

"It's not as bad as it looks. The window looks worse. The worst part is having to wear gloves when I'm kneading dough. Other than that I hardly notice it," he states, trying to reassure me.

"I still should have been there," I reiterate. "What upset you so much?" I ask, not entirely sure I want to know the answer. He looks at me with a guilty expression before speaking.

"The Capitol did a really good job of convincing me that it had always been your intention to leave me in that jungle. And that every good thing you did was all just a ruse; a show for the cameras. I tried to fight against them so hard because I knew they were wrong. But then they started using my memories from after our first games; when I figured out that everything that happened in the cave really was just for the audience. They wore me down, and that was when I began to hate you. After you kicked me out those vile memories started resurfacing until I finally snapped, and punched out my bedroom window. But I swear it wasn't like a real flashback. I know none of that is real, but I was just so frustrated. I was angry with myself and you, I wasn't sleeping well, and I just let myself get overwhelmed. I will never hurt you, Katniss."

"I know, Peeta," I murmur, and smooth his furrowed brow with my thumb. "I trust you." I brace myself for the change in subject, and physically swallow, imagining my pride going down with the saliva. "You were right, you know; the other night."

Peeta opens his mouth to speak, but I shake my head quickly to cut him off.

"No. Please let me get this out while I can." I take another deep breath, exhaling slowly. "I know I shouldn't have used our physical relationship to avoid facing what's troubling me. You mean more than that to me; what we have together means more than that. I'm sorry I didn't demonstrate that fact clearly." I finish my short speech and relax slightly, having gotten that out.

"A simple 'sorry' would have worked," Peeta replies with a grin. "But I loved your eloquence." He places a hand on the back of my neck, applying enough pressure to bring me back to him, and his lips. We kiss only briefly; both of us preferring to sit close together in silence.

After a far too short period of time, Peeta sits up, and brings us both to a standing position.

"I'm sorry, Katniss, I have to get back downstairs," he tells me reluctantly.

"I know. It's okay," I reassure him, nodding.

When we reach the first floor, I move toward the back door to leave, but he grabs my wrist, pulling me back to him. He leans down, placing another soft kiss to my lips.

"I love you. I'll be home soon," he murmurs, and then walks back out to the front room, and the sounds of his thriving business.

The word 'home' follows me all the way there.

Peeta walks through the front door even earlier than he had the other day when we fought. I've just pulled everything out to start dinner, so he joins in without pause. I can't help smiling to myself, standing at the counter next to Peeta. Our arms brush each other every so often as we both chop and prep the ingredients. There's still so much that we need to talk about, but for now we're both perfectly content to be back in this routine.

We assemble everything into a dish, to be put it in the oven for thirty minutes, during which time we sit on opposite ends of the couch waiting for the other to speak, or for the timer to go off.

"I liked the all the primroses," I tell him. He looks my way, and one side of his mouth begins to curve upward.

"I was worried when I first thought of the idea. I thought you might slap me again. I was envisioning the primrose bush incident," he admits, chuckling lightly. I smile in response, remembering my poor reaction last year to the bouquet Peeta had put together from the flowers on the side of the house. We certainly have come quite a long way.

"You said 'home' earlier," I blurt out after another few minutes of silence. Peeta stares at the fireplace and doesn't respond right away.

I wasn't upset when I heard him call my house home. It comforted me, actually. I hadn't given much thought to the subject on the night I had ordered him to go home and he declared that being with me here was his home. I was too angry with him for pushing me away, to recognize that I was in fact the one pushing him aside; the one forcing him to leave his home.

"I've felt that way for a while now, Katniss," he confesses, meeting my gaze once again. "The house I share with Hazelle, is where I go to sleep, shower and change my clothes. But there is nothing that ties me to that place. These past few days spent without you were utterly miserable. The Hawthornes are kind, warm and generous, but being there recently has felt as cold as District 13 used to feel."

"You and Gale were wrong, you know," I tell him.

"What do you mean?" he asks, a confused expression on his face.

"I overheard you two talking that night in the Capital before we got separated. He said that if all three of us survived the war that I'd pick whoever I thought I couldn't survive without. And you didn't disagree with that statement."

"Katniss, I was—,"

"No need to explain anything," I say, cutting him off. "But I realized something. I can survive without either of you. I can hunt, cook and clean just fine on my own; I've been doing that ever since my dad died. But there's no purpose to that surviving without you." I pause for a moment letting those heavy words hang in between us. Peeta doesn't speak, sensing my wish to continue. "When my dad died and my mother…disappeared, it was Prim's presence that kept me from fleeing to the forest and she held me to that house.

"I've been so lost since her death. This house may belong to me, but I've felt like a stranger here; like I don't belong here without her. That is, until you came knocking down my door, and burrowing into my life further than ever before." I stop again, not for effect, but for the oven timer. I turn off the oven completely, and leave the food inside. "Come with me, Peeta," I tell him, and start making my way up the stairs. I stop in Prim's doorway, and he joins me a minute later. "I spent all morning in here. All this time I've been blaming myself for her death. I've been spending my time mourning the loss of her, and I lost myself at the same time. So, thank you," I tell him, turning to face him. "For grounding me back to this life again. I can do all of this without you, but that doesn't mean I want to. Because I love you, Peeta," I finish finally. Peeta's eyes drift closed and he leans his head back against the doorjamb.

"How long?" he whispers.

"How long have I loved you? Or how long have I known?"

"They aren't the same?" he asks, opening his eyes and searching my face.

"I don't think they are," I admit finally.

"Well, then. Both, I guess."

"I've only known since my birthday."

"But you loved me before then?"

"I've cared for you ever since the day you threw me that bread. I started falling for you long before I knew what that meant and felt like."

"And when was that?"

"The Victory Tour at least and possibly even the Games."

"Really?" Peeta responds, raising his eyebrows, shock written across his face. "What took you so long to figure this out?" he asks, trying hard, I can tell, to keep sarcasm out of his voice.

"I didn't realize what was happening because I never wanted this." I slide down the wall, and sit in the hallway, my knees bent, and my back against the wall. Peeta joins me after hesitating briefly. "I saw my mother fall to pieces when my father died. I saw children ripped from their families, only to be killed on live television. I watched children starve to death, and women sell their bodies, before I could even read. I knew from a very young age that I did not wish to grow up, fall in love, and have kids. I wanted no part of the circle of devastation I had been born into. And there was certainly no way I would inflict that kind of torture on my family. It always seemed better to me to just not have a family, and you can avoid all that pain and misery."

"Yes, but in the process you avoid happiness, love, passion."

"I had Prim. She was all the love and happiness I needed."

"And the passion?"

"Don't they say ignorance is bliss? I didn't want or need what I knew nothing of."

"Wasn't this all before the war? I mean, do you still feel the same?" Peeta asks, and I can see and hear the insecurity.

"I do. It's hard for me to believe that the Games won't ever make a reappearance. That doesn't mean that I love you any less, Peeta. That also doesn't mean I don't want you to move in. I just need you to know that this is all new for me, and I'm still adjusting."

"You are one of the bravest people I know. How can you let fear rule your life—wait, what did you say?" Peeta's eyes widen and eyebrows rise. One corner of my mouth rises slightly. This wasn't precisely how I'd planned to tell him; really I didn't intend on saying anything today at all. "You said move in," he states simply.

"I did," I respond, just as plainly. "I mean, it just makes sense; you're pretty much here anytime you aren't at work. Sometimes you fall asleep here. It seems that you should just make it permanent."

"So, convenience is the only reason you think I should live here?" he asks, his eyebrows rising even higher. "There's no motive other than that I already spend so much time here?"

I shake my head slowly back and forth.

"Really?" he murmurs, scooting closer to me. "You're just trying to do me a favor?"

"Yup," I reply, my expression stoic. He leans forward; our noses merely inches apart.

"I call bullshit," he whispers, and then closes the gap between us. His lips melt against mine, and I don't remember it ever feeling so perfect and pure. "Well, where am I supposed to sleep?" he questions me with an innocent look on his face.

I really haven't given much thought to any of the logistics of Peeta moving in, but there's no hesitation in my mind where he'll be resting his head. Instead of verbally responding though, I stand and walk to my own room. I lie down on my back on one side of the bed. He pauses again momentarily, and then mimics my position, and we both stare up at the ceiling for a time.

A while later Peeta turns to his side, and I copy the movement, so that our gaze focuses on one another now. We both smile, and he pulls me closer to him, leaving his hand to rest on my hip.

"Welcome home, Peeta,"

* * *

><p>AN: So, I'm marking this complete. This isn't where I had originally planned to end it, but I think it works. I might post outtakes or futuretakes at some point, but I just hate leaving you guys waiting constantly for updates. In the future anything I write I'll try to complete before posting so that I don't get so behind.

I have loved and cherished every review and I'm so happy everyone liked this so much. I'm really excited to be writing again, and to know that people like it. I have about a million ideas for stories that I hope to get down on paper. It might just take me a while; I'm homeschooling my son starting Monday. Plus I still work three twelve hour shifts a week, and my husband is currently studying to take the entrance exam for medical school. Whew! I'm already exhausted.

Thank you so much for reading, reviewing, favoriting, and staying with me to the end.


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